Where Dreams Go To Die
by QueenOfQuiet17
Summary: It started, as it always does, with a dream. But it's only a matter of time before the dream inevitably unravels. Karen/Grace inspired by the John Grant song of the same name. Now complete.
1. I Know You Know

_"Your beauty is unstoppable,  
>Your confidence unspeakable.<br>I know you know, I know you know,  
><em>_I know that you know..."  
>~John Grant, "Where Dreams Go To Die" <em>

_April 1999_

I have no one to turn to, no one to consult with. No one to help me analyze, rationalize, or quell my anxiousness. And as a result, I can feel it in the pit of my stomach, a boulder that can't be moved even the slightest bit. It's not that I don't have people in my life who are close to me, people that I love, people who care about me as much as I care about them. I just know what would happen if I told them. They probably wouldn't believe me; I wouldn't blame them if they didn't. Part of me still can't believe it, even though the issue has planted its roots in the forefront of my mind. But even if they did, I know how it would go. They would think me insane, laugh in my face, or, worst of all, relay this juicy bit of information to you, the person it involves. And I can't have that.

So it's up to me. I have to deal with it on my own. Maybe if I start at the beginning, I can actually make some progress, instead of running in circles with my arms flailing, trying to grab onto something that was never there in the first place.

About a month ago, I started having the dreams.

On the first morning after, I tried to shrug it off as a random and fleeting trick that my mind had played on me in my hour of weakness, in the moments when I could do nothing to stop it. But even if that truly was the case—and I had come to realize quickly that it wasn't—the dream had consumed me until it was all I could think about. Overanalyzing, picking apart every last detail I could remember until it drove me absolutely insane. I almost didn't want to sleep that night, for fear of the dream's reoccurrence, but while my friends in college could pull all nighters I never had that power, and I drifted off against my will. And when my night was dreamless, I thought that I was free.

But they came back. They wouldn't let their grip on me go.

They don't come every night, but they come often enough. Some nights, I want nothing to do with them, but they slip into my mind anyway. Some nights, once I began to warm up to them and rely on them like an addiction, I try and will them to come but they never do. But most nights I won't even be thinking about them, and they will take me by surprise. And every time, I wake up gasping for breath in a kind of exhilaration I had never truly felt before, followed by sadness from the fact that there really isn't another presence in the room, however real that other realm might have seemed.

In the beginning, we never left the bedroom. I would be half asleep under the covers of my bed when I heard someone walking through the doorway. I could see a shadowed figure that would simply stand there for a few moments before letting out a little laugh. It was the laugh that shocked me the first few times. God…I know that laugh anywhere. It could be twenty years since the last time I heard it, and I could still tell you who it is; there was no mistaking that voice. I could remember clutching the sheets close to my body, as if that would make me safe. But then again, these dreams are never about wanting to feel safe. I would watch as the figure came closer to me, until it was straddling me on the bed, and any objections were melted away in a fierce kiss that turned me insatiable—never in my life would I think to call myself insatiable, but there isn't another word that would better describe it. But I always seem to wake up before I get what I really want.

As the nights passed, the setting would change. The living room, the elevator, my office, the darkness of the swatch room in the middle of the night. Sometimes we're a little more daring, pressing our luck in public places, risking being seen for a moment of sheer pleasure. But it is always the same person. And while it thrills me by night, it terrifies me by daylight. Scared I might slip, scared I might look a second too long, scared the tone of my voice would give me away. Because let's face it: I know I wouldn't be able to come back from a revelation like this.

The dreams started a month ago. And I haven't been able to look at you the same way since, Karen.

At one point, I thought that if I deconstructed everything that could possibly make you in any way desirable to me, it would shatter whatever fantasy was living in my subconscious. A couple of weeks after the dreams started, I had waited until you left for the day to think it over. It wasn't the money; I can be a bit shallow at times, I'll be the first to admit, but I would never sink that low. And it wasn't the way you constantly criticize me; I'd like to think that I'm not that twisted in my desires—although it's getting harder and harder to surprise me lately with the unexpected discoveries in that department. But what about your confidence? The fact that most times, you act like a rock in the face of adversity? Always in control, never settling for the passenger's seat. There was something alluring about that. And there was the feeling I get, the suspicion that you would tell anybody anything as long as it was what they wanted to hear, and even if it wasn't true, they would believe it wholeheartedly. It was the idea of feeling safe when you're freefalling to the concrete below.

Then, of course, there's the whirlwind of your beauty. It doesn't matter who you are, it will suck you in and take you for an uncontrollable spin before spitting you out, leaving you breathless, out of sorts, and trying to piece together what just happened.

I took all of it into consideration and to my disappointment, I loved it, I still do. If anything, magnifying those qualities in you had only made the dreams become more vivid.

Which is why it completely took me by surprise when an invitation for a girl's night slipped from my lips, landing in the middle of the floor for both of us to marvel at, unsure of whether or not to take it seriously.

I had watched as you put on your armor to war with Stan over the phone—some incident involving his look lingering just a little too long at a woman who didn't have his ring on her finger. Only able to hear her side of the conversation, I could only imagine how Stan was reacting. If I were in his shoes, I probably wouldn't even be able to speak; I would simply let you yell, Karen. If you were that worked up, he must have done something incredibly wrong. I wasn't about to ask questions, I wasn't about to intrude. The rage I saw in your eyes was enough for me to keep my mouth shut. And as you slammed the phone down on your desk, I couldn't help but reach out to you. I thought you would laugh me off. I thought you would leave the building. But to my surprise, you considered it. To my surprise, you smiled. To my surprise, you said yes.

And that weak and nervous feeling that became all too familiar lately had amped up the intensity.

But that's got nothing on the way I feel now, with you sitting close enough to brush my skin softly and a couple shots of tequila already in me.

When you got here, there was an awkward wall that I couldn't break through. Somehow, I wasn't surprised. While I've always respected you for the clients you've plucked from your address book for me, it was apparent from the moment we met that we lived in different worlds (maybe that's another reason why I keep having these dreams; the exotic world you live in makes that much more enticing. You're someone I normally can't touch, but in my subconscious, you can touch me). And with what little I knew about you, I rushed for the bottle of tequila, grabbed a couple of beers to use as chasers, and hoped for the best. What I didn't take into consideration was how the alcohol would affect my judgment.

It was clear from the start that you had the ability to drink virtually anyone under the table. What I didn't expect was the urge to keep up with your pace. I saw how the liquor in the bottle had dwindled, I knew that I had a major part in that. But at that time, I didn't feel anything. For a moment, it made me think that I would be fine, I could handle it, give me one more…and one more after that. Confidence isn't the right word. I'm not a heavy drinker; given the chance, I'd much rather have a glass or two of wine and call it a night. Maybe it was reassurance. If you could do it, who said I couldn't as well?

Now I'm starting to regret that decision.

There's a cloud over my mind. It feels nice, a fuzzy little haze that keeps me from thinking. I know I should be keeping my attention on my words, my actions, the things that could potentially spill the fact that you come into my dreams at night and it's happened so often that I don't mind it anymore. But the haze that keeps me from thinking keeps me from caring, it keeps me from monitoring. And I can hear myself slurring slightly, almost unnoticeable at first, but growing as time goes by.

You laugh, you smile. You refill my glass and cut another lime wedge. You do it all with such grace that it makes me feel as though I can't let your actions go to waste. I can feel the tequila slide down my throat, my aim getting worse with each shot as I toss the lime wedge at the fireplace, hitting the mantle instead. You delve into stories more personal than I'm used to hearing from you, and I know there's a chance I won't remember them once the sun comes up.

But god, I want to remember this.

I want to remember the way your hand brushed up against mine accidentally as we both reached for the bottle of tequila. I want to remember the way your face scrunched up at the taste of the first lime, before you got used to it. I want to remember the way the alcohol blended with your gardenia perfume to create a unique scent that can only be associated with Karen Walker. I want to remember the careful way you say my name, and how it doesn't change no matter how much you drink. I want to remember that we connected at one point during our time together.

Before I'm too far gone, please lock this up safe in a corner of my mind, so I can revisit it when I wake up.

About a month ago, I started having the dreams. And I know that tonight isn't helping matters.

If anything, it makes me want you more.


	2. Guilt By Intoxication

_April 1999_

She was screwed. She knew it.

When Grace woke up at the sound of the front door closing—did Will come home? Did he look at the scene and wonder what the hell was going on?—it wasn't the fact that she was wearing Karen's clothes that surprised her. Even though she couldn't remember various aspects of the evening, she vaguely recalled when they swapped their shirts and pants for whatever reason. Karen's coat around her body was warm, inviting her to stick around for a while. And she could smell her in it, too, more than she thought she would be able to. But as her eyes opened more and more, Grace realized that it wasn't the coat that made the smell of her seem to surround her.

It was the fact that she was lying on top of her.

Grace sucked in her breath, held it for a moment as if that would keep Karen undisturbed. Her head hurt and she could feel herself start to shake slightly—shaking at the mere fact that she had this dream before, once, maybe twice, and the fact that it became real was a little too much to take—and that's when she knew that the situation was out of her hands. If she moved off of the couch, tried to get up and make her way to her bedroom, there was no doubt that Karen would wake up and see the situation they had gotten themselves into. If Grace moved at all, she was bound to disturb her and…god, she just looked so peaceful.

It was unlike anything she had ever seen. In the time Grace had known her—and granted, it hadn't been too long—she had never known Karen Walker to appear truly, one hundred percent happy. Even when she had a smile on her face, it was jaded and melancholic. And Grace could tell that it went deeper than that clichéd and annoying story of the poor little rich girl growing bored with her lifestyle; there was actual heartache, no matter how fiercely Karen will deny it when challenged. Stan. It had to be Stan; what else could it be? Sure, she had the air of an intensely independent woman, but if you're not happy with the person you're living with, if you're not happy sharing your home—the one place you're supposed to feel safe and comfortable and loved—then how are you going to be happy anywhere else?

Which, the more she thought about it, is why Grace asked her to come by in the first place. If Karen couldn't be happy at home, maybe Grace could make her in any way happy tonight, and maybe that happiness could carry her into the morning. Maybe, when she came in to work on Monday, Karen would have a smile that was less melancholic and more hopeful. Tonight had potential, and what did she do? She forced them into a compromising position. She was on top; she had a choice, even if she couldn't exactly remember it, and she chose the wrong option. And now she was in an inexplicable situation that would likely drive the wedge that was already in their so called friendship even deeper. And it would be her fault entirely.

Wait. Stop for a moment, Grace. Pull it together. She hasn't woken up yet. And she always was a mysterious person with a background and seemed to be up for nearly anything. Maybe, once she opens up her eyes and sees Grace on top of her, she'll shrug it off, think she's seen weirder things. Come on; think about all the crazy stories she's slipped in as side bars to conversations. This is nothing. And, if all else fails, Grace, you could probably still play drunk and be done with it.

You could probably get away with it.

Once she rationalized everything, she felt the shaking subside, she slowly let out her breath. And when she was finally able to take her eyes off of the peaceful beauty that simply radiated off of Karen, Grace lowered her head and put her ear to Karen's chest, her heart beating against her ear steadily. She closed her eyes so she could concentrate on the sound. It was almost like a lullaby that could have easily sent her back into slumber, a reassuring constant that she could listen to forever. In any other situation, it would have freaked her out, the way she felt so blissful in this moment—it wasn't as though she was adverse to the thought of getting involved with another woman; she had just never come across a woman who had elicited emotions and desires that were anything like what Karen elicited. But with the alcohol still swimming in her, and Karen's warmth making contact with her own body, Grace could feel nothing but serenity and hear nothing but the song in Karen's heart.

That was, until she heard a sigh that was let out just above her head.

Grace's eyes snapped back open, and suddenly the serenity that had just surrounded her disappeared into the air. Maybe it was a fluke, maybe she sighed in her sleep. Maybe her hazy mind was just playing tricks on her. And for a moment, it seemed to be the case. But she could feel Karen moving beneath her and her heart skip a beat; she could hear another sigh spill from Karen's lips. And she knew that simply lying frozen like this was not going to help things. Grace lifted her head, watched as Karen's eyes fluttered open and her lips broke into a weary smile.

"Hi," Grace said softly, to break the silence that was growing thicker and heavier. Immediately she regretted saying something so simple. But what else could she possibly say?

"Hi, honey." Grace was taken aback by how small Karen's voice sounded just then, no longer a booming sound of security and authority, but a delicate sound of someone who was scouting out a situation.

Silence.

"I'm sorry," Grace blurted out. Great. No turning back now. "I, uh…god, honestly, I don't even remember how this happened. I guess I had more to drink than I thought I did."

Karen let out a little laugh and it warmed her spirit just a little bit. "Gracie, don't worry about it. I've woken up to things that were far stranger than this." Grace couldn't help but smile. She knew it. Karen had a past that was bigger than she fully let on. If anything, it made her all the more alluring, intriguing. "Actually, this is one of the more pleasant things I've woken up to."

Grace couldn't help but smile at that. Suddenly, the silence around them wasn't heavy, it wasn't suffocating. And, despite the physicality of the situation, it wasn't awkward; it was almost as if this girls' night had broken through the barrier that was set up when Karen first walked through the door of Grace Adler Designs, and they had become closer. Maybe it wasn't in the way Grace had hoped, but at least it was something.

The remnants of Karen's laugh left a soft smile on her face as she brushed her fingers through Grace's hair in such an ambiguous manner, Grace couldn't tell if there was anything behind her actions. Then again, in her clouded mind, anything was possible. She tried to close her eyes, to focus on anything other than Karen's touch on her temple, Karen's touch brushing against her ear. But when she succumbed to the darkness, it heightened Karen's touch that much more.

"Thank you, Grace."

At the sound of her name, she opened her eyes. Karen's index finger was entwined with a lock of her curled red hair, and it took all she had in her not to grab Karen's hand and kiss her palm, travel up her arm, along her shoulder to her neck before finally reaching her lips. "Um…" she started, fumbling, trying to play cool but failing miserably. "What did I do?"

"You took my mind off of everything. You let me have fun. I can't remember the last time I've laughed that much. I needed this tonight."

For a fleeting moment, Grace was at ease. For a fleeting moment, she was a little daring. She leaned in, kissed Karen on the cheek in a way that, in any other circumstance, would simply be considered friendly. But she tested the waters, let her lips linger on Karen's cheek for another second, and then another. But before she knew it, she lingered too long. Karen may not have noticed it, may not have made a move to end it, but she certainly noticed.

And that was all it took to set Grace off.

Whether it was the fact that Karen was letting her see a more sentimental side, or the guilt of the uncontrollable wandering of her mind, Grace couldn't take any more of it. She knew she had taken advantage of the situation in a way she never would have if she were in the right mindset. Grace raced from the couch and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. In a flash, she changed out of Karen's clothes—god, she could still smell her in the fabric—and into her own before braving the living room once again. She couldn't look at Karen when she paced the hallway and grabbed her keys from the coffee table. She was at the front door when she heard Karen's voice at her back, smaller than it usually was.

"Grace? Honey, what are you doing?"

She froze for a moment, instinctively wanting to give her an answer. "I…I'm…" What? What exactly are you doing here, Grace? Do you even know? She couldn't think of a response, and closed the door behind her before running down the stairwells, not daring to wait for the elevator, lest Karen try to follow her.

Once she was in the lobby of the building, Grace slowed her pace to a jog and made her way into the late and chilly Manhattan night. The air hit her skin in an exhilarating way that made her stop in her tracks. She looked back to the building, realized that she needed to clear her head before going back into that living room, she needed to plan out exactly what she would say to Karen, and decided to take a walk along Riverside Drive in silence.

When she got back to the apartment, Karen was gone. And for a moment, Grace thought she would truly be able to pass this off as a bad dream.

But nothing ever goes away that easily.


	3. Thrill In The Risk

_April 1999_

She had the remainder of the weekend to piece together exactly what the hell happened that night.

This is what Karen knew: She didn't want to be alone that night, and although she knew that a potential girl's night with Grace would be the epitome of awkward, she accepted the invitation because she wanted to be in the presence of another person. That out of everyone she knew, she was glad that it was Grace inadvertently coming to her rescue, saving her from her thoughts. That Grace's increasing intoxication was incredibly amusing and made it easier to indulge her when she asked to switch clothes, but she knew to keep an eye on her so she wouldn't drink too much. She didn't remember falling asleep with Grace on the couch, but when she woke up, she didn't mind it. When her lips made contact with her skin, she felt something, but played it off as intoxication. When Grace ran off, her suspicion grew. When Grace raced off into the night, she knew for sure.

That if this was a game, it wasn't funny, and if it was strategic, it wasn't kind. But she'd play it. Oh, god, would she play it. She'd play it fiercely and she'd play it seriously. If that's what Grace wanted.

Karen had waited a half hour before leaving Grace's apartment that night, unsure of what to do, how to handle the situation that she had been given. When she realized that Grace wasn't coming back any time soon, she walked into the bedroom to find her clothes in a haphazardly discarded pile on the floor. She changed out of Grace's outfit, folded it up and placed it on the bed, and put her own clothes on before walking out the door and locking it behind her. As much as she wanted to clear up anything that may (or may not…at this point, even she wasn't so sure what was real) have happened, she knew that it would probably be better for Grace to come home to no burden, to no awkwardness. And when she made her way out of the building and saw that Grace was nowhere around, she made her way to West End Avenue before hailing a cab home.

The next morning, Stan apologized for his part in their argument before Karen had a chance to fully wake up before going off to start his own day—separate from his wife's, something she realized quickly but took twice as long to get used to—leaving her with heavy eyes and a heavier mind with no one to help her break down and analyze this confusing burden.

It wasn't as if she tried to deconstruct everything herself; at first, she thought she could. She had seen her fair share of odd, challenging situations, missteps, misjudgments. She had been witness to more than she cared to discuss. But for the life of her, she could not understand why she felt what she felt that night, why she thought Grace felt something along the same lines. Why she felt anything at all; sure, Stan pissed her off to no end sometimes, but she still loved him, no matter what she tried to play their marriage off as. Okay, if it had been years back, before Stan put a ring on her finger and she committed herself to a lifetime of fidelity, and okay, if Grace had previously given off any hint whatsoever that she could even think of another woman in that way, she would have probably gone for it. Because if she had to face the facts, she held Grace higher than any other woman she knew. Grace was real. Grace was honest. Grace was…honestly, unlike anyone else in her life.

And that made her all the more appealing. It made the game—the fierce and serious game play she'd set into motion as soon as Grace said the word—all that more appealing.

It certainly would save her from the lonely and restless nights she had reluctantly grown accustomed to lately.

She had the weekend to make sense of everything. But as soon as she set foot inside Grace Adler Designs late Monday morning, all the feeble work she did to try and figure it out crumbled, and she was left with nothing but the heavy mind she spent all weekend trying to lighten. She had considered not showing up at all—it wouldn't necessarily be out of character for her to do so—but she knew she had to face her eventually. Might as well get it over with now.

When she sat down at her desk, Grace wasn't in yet, and the surprising feat that she had managed to come in before the boss was not lost on her. She grabbed her copy of _Vogue_ and flipped through it absentmindedly, anything to try and take her mind off of what was surely to come; she wanted to deal with it as it happened, she didn't want to make it into a bigger thing than it already was. But before she could analyze any bit of the situation, she heard Grace walking through the door, stopping beside her desk.

Karen looked up and locked eyes with Grace for a moment. It couldn't have been her mind, or the alcohol, playing tricks on her this time; she saw the same thing she saw in Grace's eyes over the weekend. And she knew that Grace realized she could see it. It would explain the reason why she bolted from the doorway of the office to the dark corners of the swatch room; she didn't want to deal with it.

But that's not the way life works.

Karen stood up from her seat, slowly making her way across the room. She wasn't going to lead Grace on. Anything she did would be because she wanted it, too. But there were already unspoken boundaries they had to abide by. The twisted little rules had already been set in stone; all they had to do was find a way not to defy them. All they had to do was find a way not to hurt themselves in the process.

The latter was probably impossible. But the thrill was in the risk.

Always in the risk.

* * *

><p>God, she could feel her eyes piercing through her skin, even after taking refuge in the swatch room. Grace was utterly foolish in thinking that the rest of the weekend would erase that disastrous girls night from Karen's mind. But as soon as she looked at her sitting at her desk, she knew that Karen had been thinking about it as much as she had. But while Grace was spending the weekend trying to not only assess the damage but to keep that one flawless moment on the couch fresh in her mind, Karen was probably spending the weekend coming to certain conclusions that Grace was certain she didn't want to know about, but knew without a shadow of a doubt were true.<p>

Because, let's face it: she messed up. And she didn't know how to fix it.

She knew it was a stupid move to hide in the back room when she not only had a business to run, but she should own up to what she's done. Come on, Grace, you're a grown up. You know what you have to do. But bringing up the subject meant doing the one thing she had avoided with every fiber of her being. It meant telling Karen the logic behind what happened. It meant telling Karen about the dreams. Because it would inevitably come to that. Grace had no idea how to even begin discussing that night without eventually coming back to what brought the confusion in the first place. And she had already thought of all the ways Karen could react to the news.

The softest of reactions would just be laughter, at her, at the situation, at the absurdity of it all. Maybe Karen wouldn't let it go immediately, maybe she would make a few quips in the weeks following the revelation. But that was something she could only hope for, something she actually wouldn't mind if it meant saving herself the humiliation of any of the other things Grace had cooked up in her mind. Karen could quit, and Grace wouldn't blame her; true, it wasn't as if Karen was necessarily helping around the office, but in the time that she had worked for her, Grace had grown to love Karen's presence in the office, and couldn't bear to think of what the place would be like without her. But worst of all, Karen was liable to tell Jack; the two of them had grown incredibly close in the short time they've known each other, and it was bound to get back to him what had happen. And Jack was bound to tell Will. And Will was bound to confront her. It was all too much. It made her dizzy. She needed to sit down.

But she never got the chance.

"Hey," she heard coming from behind her. Karen's voice was soft when she said it, but it pierced the silence like a bullet through skin. Grace felt her heart in her throat as she turned around to look at her. Karen had a half smirk and a look in her eyes that made it impossible for anyone to read her. But come on…wasn't that part of the excitement? You could take her hand and feel safe, but you didn't know where you were going to go, how you were going to get there, or what you had to do to reach your destination. Grace watched, frozen in her spot, as Karen leaned against the doorway.

If you're going to explain yourself, Grace, now's the prime opportunity.

"Look, about the other night, I just wanted to…" Karen put her hand up to stop Grace from speaking. She could have sworn she heard a little laugh come from her too, but everything had gotten so hazy that she couldn't be quite sure if Karen's lips had actually moved. She closed her eyes and took a breath before returning her gaze to Karen.

"You left so quickly the other night, that I didn't have a chance to give you this."

For a fleeting moment, Grace thought she saw something soften in her eyes. For a fleeting moment, Grace lost sense of time. For a fleeting moment, Grace felt Karen's lips brush against her own. For a fleeting moment, Grace thought she imagined it.

That was, until Karen kissed her deeper, a kiss shrouded in a mix of confusion, trepidation, exhilaration and peace, but tasting sweet enough for her to forget the shroud hanging over them. When she finally pulled away, Grace stood there with her mouth slightly ajar, her mind fumbling over all the words she could have said but knew she wouldn't. She didn't have a chance to say them anyway, even if she wanted to. As soon as Grace felt her lips, Karen was gone, and all she heard were the clicks of her heels hitting the stairs outside of her door.

So it wasn't in the dark of the night, and it wasn't all the way.

But at least it was a start.


	4. The Wait

_April 1999_

By the time Grace had gotten her bearings, Karen still had not returned from wherever it was she went off to. She tried to put her pencil to her sketch pad, in an attempt to take her mind off of what had just happened. But her heart wasn't in it, and the client she was brainstorming for deserved her full attention; she knew she wasn't going to get any work done today, after that. It was best to just go home, take the day off, give herself a little breathing room. Maybe that way she can zone out for a little while, drown in the light of the television screen.

She packed up her things and put on her coat—April was becoming warmer and warmer, but the breeze was still too much for bare skin to take—but stopped at Karen's desk for a moment. She could still come back. She could wonder where Grace went, she could possibly wait up for her. Grace should leave a note for her, just in case. She grabbed a pencil from Karen's desk, a piece of paper lying by the fax machine. But all she could think of writing to her was once simple sentence.

_My front door will be unlocked tonight._

She put the pencil down and focused on what she had just written. Blunt, suggestive, but if Karen came back, and if Karen still had any sort of feelings remotely close to the ones that drove her to the kiss in the swatch room, she could take the hint and make herself at home on Riverside Drive. Grace slid the piece of paper to the middle of Karen's desk and rushed out the door before she could change her mind and throw her note in the wastebin. The breeze and the sound of the traffic racing by on Lafayette Street hit her at once but couldn't clear her clouded mind the way she thought it would. She looked around, keeping an eye out for Karen, hoping she wouldn't run into her and have to face everything so quickly. When she didn't see anyone she recognized, she started her trek uptown.

Grace didn't want to go home right away. She stopped by a secondhand bookstore on Crosby Street that doubles as a coffee shop, tried to get lost in the titles on the shelves. The letters on the spines of the paperbacks danced around before her eyes, never settling down long enough for her mind to comprehend what was written in front of her. Nothing helped, nothing came to her rescue, nothing distracted her long enough to fill the forefront of her mind with something, anything, else. She waited in line before ordering a latte and finally making her way home.

When Will came home from work, he automatically knew something was wrong, but figured that Grace would fill him in over dinner. He busied himself in the kitchen, periodically glancing over towards the television, watching as Grace stared blankly at the screen. This wasn't her. And when she was nearly silent for the entire dinner—only talking when he asked her a question—he knew he had to say something to her.

He waited until he was getting ready for bed to talk to her. He changed clothes and walked out of his room to find Grace in the same position on the love seat. Will took a seat beside her, waiting for her to look at him, even for a fleeting moment. And when she didn't, he spoke up.

"What happened today?"

Grace jumped a little at the sound of his voice before she locked eyes with him. She seemed surprised by his presence. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

"You're not yourself tonight. You've barely said a word to me since I got home. You just seem really distracted. Did Karen do something today?"

How did he know?

"What? Why does it have to be Karen?" she said, hoping to mask the anxiousness in her voice.

"I don't know, she just never seemed to lend a hand to a positive work environment. Maybe I'm wrong to jump to that conclusion, but you've got to admit, it's got some reality to it."

"It's not Karen," Grace told him, one of the most blatant lies she had ever uttered to him. "I just had a really long day, and I didn't feel like being all that social. I'll snap out of it come morning, I promise. I'll be fine."

Will wrapped her in his arms and kissed her on the cheek. "If you say so," he said before wishing her goodnight and closing his bedroom door.

Grace looked at her watch, saw how late it had gotten. If Karen didn't show up by now, there was no chance of her ever walking through that door tonight. It was a long shot, anyway, nothing to get hopes up over. But of course, she did. It was impossible not to. She wanted to know if Karen meant it. She wanted to know how much truth was behind what she did today.

She wanted to know if there was a chance of it happening again.

Just a little more time, wait a little bit longer. Maybe she'll surprise you, Grace. But she could feel the heaviness of her eyes working against her, and before she knew it, she had fallen asleep on the love seat, the television still shining in an otherwise pitch black room.

Sometime after she closed her eyes, she heard the door opening in the distance but didn't make a move to meet whoever was coming in, or to open her eyes. The soft click of heels made her suspicious; it couldn't have been Will coming in from grabbing a midnight snack. She heard the footsteps come closer and closer until they stopped right in front of her. She felt the soft touch of a hand slide up her arm, and as she opened her eyes, Grace jumped at the image before her.

"Oh god, I'm dreaming again," she murmured as she struggled to sit up on the loveseat. But no. It couldn't be a dream. She never felt the touch in her dreams. This was real. She went back. She got the note. She's on the same page? Please, let her be on the same page.

Karen met Grace's eyes with a puzzled look on her face. "What did you say?"

Damn it. She said it out loud. It's okay, Karen didn't comprehend. You can still play this off as something else. Grace sighed and shook her head. "Nothing, I…nothing. I'm just waking up, that's all." She waited a few moments to fully wake up before taking another look at the woman taking a seat next to her. "Karen, what are you doing here so late?"

"You do know you live in Manhattan, right? Pretty risky to leave the front door to your apartment unlocked in the middle of the night. You never know who's going to come in unannounced." Karen let out a little laugh, careful not to wake Will, and said, "You left that note on my desk. I came back thinking you'd still be there but you left for the day. I thought you wanted me here. But I can leave if you're too tired."

"No, don't," Grace said, reaching for Karen's arm as she tried to get up to leave. "I do want you here. Please stay." She watched as Karen nodded, shifting in her seat to face Grace. Even in the mere glow of late-night television, Karen looked absolutely flawless. Grace wanted to know how she did it; she wanted to know how she was able to elicit the desires she didn't know existed with the right look in her eyes, with the right smile on her lips, with the right touch along her skin. She took a moment to study this woman, who has the ability to seduce without realizing she's doing it, without even trying. It baffled Grace just as much as it excited her. She just wanted a moment.

Too long. It was too long of a silence. She had to say something. She was horrible with handling heavy silences; it was a fact that was starting to become all too clear. It doesn't matter what you say at this point, Grace. Just as long as you mix some words with this awkward air.

"Did you mean what you did today?" Grace asked in a whisper, as if she didn't want to give a legitimate voice to the matter. In all honesty, she wanted to ease her way into the subject matter if she was going to discuss it at all. But in the pressure of the silence, in the urgency she felt to put something out there, this was all she could think of.

It was dark, save for the illumination of the television, but Grace saw Karen's smirk play along her face. "Only if you meant what you did over the weekend."

It was the first time either of them had put Grace's actions into question. And to Grace's surprise, Karen didn't condemn her, she didn't laugh in her face. It was almost as if she was inviting more. It was almost as if she was giving Grace the green light. And she was going to take it. She'd be stupid not to.

"I did. I don't really know what I was thinking, though. I shouldn't have done it, I was stepping over a boundary that wasn't meant to be crossed, I…"

"Honey, come on," Karen said, trying to get Grace to stop. "Why do you keep trying to apologize?"

Grace didn't have an answer.

"Look," Karen continued. "I don't want to wake Will." She stood up, turned to face Grace and held out her hand. "Let's go somewhere a little more private."

All Grace could do was nod as Karen led her out of her apartment, hailed a cab, and whisked her away.

It was the first rule, she would come to realize: Karen's wish would always be her command.


	5. Game Face

_April 1999_

And so it begins.

I wish I knew how to feel about you. I wish that I could firmly plant my feet in one emotion when it comes to you and leave it at that. But that's asking way too much; hardly anybody is so lucky to be so certain in what they're doing when it comes to anything in life. You never cease to amaze me, you know. The main reason I can't put my finger on the effect of our situation is because of the way you've treated me since I walked through your office door. You took me for what I appeared to you on the surface—some Park Avenue socialite looking for something to occupy her time. I don't blame you, either; on the surface level, that is what I am. Only the surface. But you took that image and ran with it in the beginning. Lately, though, you started to open up, you started to soften towards me. That is, until you froze up from something I wasn't quite sure of before, but am almost certain of now. I just wish I was certain of everything else.

I'm clueless here, Grace. And I know you won't be able to help.

All I know is that you took my hand so willingly that it shocked me for a moment, because I thought that you would protest somehow—it's too late, we've got work in the morning, we're going too fast. That your touch was timid and your body stiff on the cab ride over here. That you seemed to loosen up once you saw that we weren't going to my home, but to a hotel where we would be anonymous, where we could leave every burden at the door. That you lit up once we shut the door to our room behind us. That I didn't mean to take such a turn once we settled in, but you were the one who allowed me to take it to the place that I did.

That we put this game, or whatever you want to call it, into motion, and there's no stopping us now. And while it makes me smile in one moment, it makes me nervous in the next. Because I can guess what triggered this in you—it's what triggers this in nearly everyone I've slept with, nearly everyone I've gone out with, two out of the three men I've married—and that's nowhere near who I really am.

And you're bound to find that out eventually. But for now, you're blissfully unaware and I will do everything in my power to keep up the persona you've come to know. Life is a game; that's all it is. At least, that's what I've been taught. Survival, success, they're both components of winning. How you compose yourself—your game face—determines how far you get in the game. This is what my mother had come to teach me once my father had died and she had no one around to consult with when it came to passing wisdom down to her children (I never stood a chance under her wing, I know this for a fact; why do you think I ran out on her as soon as I turned sixteen?). This is what enticed you.

This is merely my game face, Grace. You are merely falling for it. But I would be lying if I said that I'm not happy about it.

From the moment we met, there was something about you that I just couldn't get over. Even if you asked me now, I couldn't tell you exactly what it was that initially hooked me to you, before we got a chance to know each other, before we uttered five words to each other, but something was there. And it wasn't going to go away. But even if my thoughts had wandered off in that direction, I knew that nothing would ever come out of it for two reasons. For one thing, we come from two separate worlds; there are so many differences between the two that we probably wouldn't be able to reconcile. For another, I'm a woman. As far as you've let me know, you've only dated men. Not that you would completely rule it out, but I'm not counting on it.

I applied to be your assistant for one reason and one reason only: I wanted to get away from him. I used to be fine in the home I share with Stan; we had a routine that I settled into with an ease that surprised me but eventually relieved me. About a year ago, I started to feel as though the walls were closing in on me. It wasn't so much that would be easily noticeable, at least not in the beginning. I felt a slight twinge of claustrophobia, but it wasn't anything that I hadn't experienced in the past, it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. But as the months rolled along, the walls moved closer and closer until I couldn't take it. Stan thought I was bored when I really was desperate for air. He was the one to suggest that I find something to occupy myself. I was the one to drive myself to apply for the job you were offering.

Once you had hired me, my motives changed. It had been a long time since I had been around another woman who challenged me, who didn't let me get away with any of the things everyone else let slide. You were different. If you were going to make me cut out everything that identified me in my own circle, maybe I would finally be able to lose the game face that I've been so accustomed to, and someone would finally be able to see me for who I was. I thought that maybe I could make a friendship that wasn't based on status, but was based on truth. But you never seemed to be able to let go of the first impression you had of me. And I had no choice but to play into that. You had become so used to the way things worked in that atmosphere and I didn't want to disrupt it in any way. This was another routine, but one that I didn't hate.

So I kept it up, I played the part. And, if I have to be honest, I started to like the back and forth that always happened during the work week. But what intrigued me the most was how you started to respond to it after a while, the contrast of our backgrounds. You would act like you were disgusted, but you always have a tell, and I always knew you wanted more. It was new to see someone so interested in the façade that I had grown so tired of; it breathed a new life into it, and although wanted nothing more than for someone to see me for who I really am, this was fun. This took my mind off of problems with Stan, problems with everything, really. Plus, you were already so used to this persona as Karen Walker. I didn't want to disappoint.

Little did I know you were thinking of shaking things up all along.

You could have stopped it last night; you knew that, Grace. There was no way I was ever going to make you do anything you didn't want to do. I've done a lot of things in my life, but I'm not that cruel. If you said the word, I would have let you go, I would have backed off. I watched your lips carefully, for even a whisper, for even a concise command: "Enough," "Stop," "Quit." But you didn't say anything. If anything, you willed me to keep going, and at that And when I finally pulled away, it wasn't awkward, it wasn't uncomfortable. You simply lay beside me with your fingers woven with mine until you fell asleep. It was nice.

It was the most intimacy I've experienced in a long time.

Although our connection took a turn I never thought it would take, and now I'm in a dark alley I've never seen before, and I don't know how to get back on the road I was on.

The sun is slowly making its rise over Manhattan and you're fast asleep next to me. You don't move, you're not jostled out of sleep, when I slide out of bed and slip back into my clothes. I fumble around in my purse for a lighter and the pack of cigarettes I threw in there the day before. From the balcony of the hotel room, I have a view of the New York City skyline at one turn, and your peaceful presence at the other. I don't know which is the more appealing of the two.

As the smoke fills my lungs, I turn to look at you, trying to piece together how this came to be. It only makes me realize that this is only going to work if I don't try to analyze. None of this makes sense, Grace. You know that as well as I do. And if I keep trying to deconstruct this, it's only going to drive me insane. But, then again, we've got to be pretty crazy to delve into this.

I'm willing to admit insanity if you are.

I turn to look at the Manhattan skyline. Stan usually wakes up this time in the morning. What's he going to think when he doesn't find me in bed next to him? God. Who am I kidding? He either won't notice or won't care. But what about you, Grace? What's going to happen when Will wakes up? What's going to happen when he walks out of his bedroom only to see that you're nowhere to be found? It won't make sense to him; from all the mundane morning stories you've told me, he's prone to getting up earlier than you are (here's where you're wrong about one thing; you think I never listen to you, you think I feign interest but your words go in one ear and out the other. But I've heard every word you've said). How are you going to explain this one?

Will that thought even cross your mind? Will you even care?

"Good morning." I jump at the sound of your greeting and the rustling of the sheets surrounding you. Your voice is heavy with sleep and the smile on your face as you rub your eyes awake make me want to continue whatever game this is, no matter what the cost.

"Morning, honey."

You carry the smile with you as you get out of bed and make your way to the bathroom to freshen up, before we even have a chance to talk about what happened last night, what happened yesterday, what happened over the weekend. You're acting like this is completely normal, like we have been sleeping in the same bed for years. This isn't how it should work. But the basics are pretty clear; do we really need to sit down and talk it out?

So many words. They just get in the way sometimes.

It's all a game, but that's the only thing I'm certain of. There's a plethora of things that leave me uncertain. I don't know what you're doing to me. I don't know why I'm buying into it so easily. I don't know what has gotten into you. And I don't know what you think you could ever get out of me, especially with the image of myself that I've given to you.

But I'd love to find out.


	6. Between The Pages

_"I'm willing to do anything  
>To get attention from you, dear,<br>Even though I don't have anything that I can bargain with."  
>~John Grant, "Where Dreams Go To Die" <em>

_June 1999_

In a month and a half, Grace had begun to figure out the mechanics of what they were doing, a process that consisted of two major rules; if and when other boundaries needed to be established, they would make them up as they go along. It was by no means a legitimate relationship, although even if it were, there would be no way to make sure of it; they never talked about it. Out of all the rules that were slowly coming to her attention, that was the golden one. Don't speak about it at any time. No questions, no quips, no sly comments you think you slipped in quickly without the other noticing (they will always notice. Always). And while it bugged her in the beginning, Grace eventually shrugged it off; she wouldn't even know where to begin discussing it if she were given the chance. And the truth was, the mystery was part of the mix that kept her interested.

The other rule was that Karen was always in control. Sure, she would often give off the allusion of Grace directing everything—with subtle hints, dropping the fact that her door would be unlocked that night, where she would be for the better part of the evening—but in actuality, it was Karen that ultimately decided when they would meet, and how far they would go. They would always start when Karen gave the okay. And it was fine by Grace.

As long as it happened at all, it was fine by Grace.

The one thing that bothered her, though, was the fact that she never quite knew when the next encounter would be, and she had no way of finding out; that would be breaking the rules. Karen didn't come to her every day, though they found their own secret places often enough, and it seemed as though whenever she called for Grace, it was always on a whim. And while the exhilaration of surprise caught her in a whirl that she loved spinning around in, while it made her weak in the knees almost as much as Karen's skin against her own, she would love it if every once in a while she could catch Karen off guard, surprise her in the same brilliant way that she surprises Grace. She'd like to think that Karen loved their rendezvous as much as she did, but Karen will always have the upper hand if they keep going like this. But as much as these thoughts invade her mind during the day, they always seem to slip away whenever she felt Karen's fingertips crawling along her spine.

Still, there was the mystery, the element of surprise. It made her feel at a loss sometimes—their arrangement was a rare thing, a routine that she couldn't count on—and while she wanted nothing more than Karen's attention, she felt as though it was only given to her in spurts, it was only given to her when Karen decided she wanted to give it to her. And she wished she had something to bargain with. But when she looked at Karen, when she tried to compare herself to this gloriously stoic woman, she knew it was a no-brainer; there was nothing she had that could possibly raise the stakes, to make Karen want her more than she already—and confusingly, in Grace's eyes; what could she possibly have to offer?—does.

This whole thing has kept her on her toes. And when she thinks she's fully prepared, she's proven wrong time and time again.

Grace had given both of them the day off today; frankly, as much as she wanted to be in Karen's presence, her current client load had overwhelmed her and she needed a day to regroup and relax and, hopefully, find the right mindset to approach her work head on tomorrow. Still, she found herself on Broadway in NoHo, mere blocks away from her office on Lafayette. After nearly fifteen years of living in New York City, she always found herself slowing down and looking through the windows at the stores inside like the most generic tourist. Clothing, souvenirs, café-deli-pizza. But she froze in front of the window of a small bookstore at the sight of a woman walking the shelves.

No. It couldn't be.

When Grace walked in, she was certain of who she saw, but she never expected to see her in a place like this; old, worn carpet on the floor of a space where you could find a couple of bibliophiles dressed in black discussing beat authors in the back corner while a few flannel-clad readers were scattered on all sides of the room thumbing through classics and determining which of the new releases were substantial enough to spend time reading. And all the while, a small but friendly cat made her way from the back of the room, rubbing her head against the legs of the regulars, before making her way to the front counter to rest. It was a second home for the bohemian subset of Manhattan.

And Karen's heels and skirt stuck out like a sore thumb.

She didn't notice Grace inching closer and closer towards her as she used a small step ladder to reach the book she wanted, and for a moment, Grace considered not interrupting her, just to see how she reacts to being in an environment such as this. It was far from the Park Avenue society that she was used to, and the fact that she chose to visit this place completely baffled Grace. It went against all the elements of Karen's image—or, at the very least, what Grace created as her image of Karen. But before she back away, she heard herself speak.

"Are you finding what you're looking for?"

Karen turned to face her, smirked when she saw Grace standing in front of her. "Didn't think I would see you anywhere around here. The office is only a few blocks south, I thought the point of today was to get as far away from work as possible."

"What are you doing here?" Grace blurted, cutting out the cheap small talk that would otherwise have consumed them.

"It's a bookstore, Grace. What do you think I'm doing here?"

"No…" Grace stopped for a minute. She didn't want to make it awkward; she didn't want to make it seem like she had all of these expectations of Karen. "I mean, why this store? There are plenty of others closer to where you live, that certainly fit your lifestyle a little better. Come on, take a look around. I know this isn't you."

Karen laughed at her and locked eyes. "Honey, what you don't know about me could take up enough pages to fill every shelf in this place." Her tone was serious and her gaze wouldn't let up; for a moment, Grace thought she blew it. But after what seemed like an eternity, Karen turned back to the shelf. It was true, in any case; Grace knew next to nothing about this woman, even though they had shared office space for nearly a year and, every once in a while, shared a bed. But wasn't that part of the fun? Wasn't that the fuel that drove the whole thing?

Would that ever wear off?

They let a cloud of silence hover over them as Karen reached for a novel on a higher shelf. Grace's eyes trailed down to Karen's waist, where the red silk of her top rode up, revealing skin Grace had at one point kissed, and she got the sudden unavoidable desire to kiss it once again. Karen could feel the sudden cold and dropped a hand to pull her shirt back down.

"Don't." Grace's voice was faint but adamant. "Don't, um…don't pull it down." Karen didn't say a word, simply grabbed her hand and slid it along her bare skin before going back to the shelf and grabbing a Capote novel. As she stepped down from the ladder, she felt Grace's arms slide around the whole of her waist and her body making contact. Karen didn't want her to let go; she brushed her lips against Grace's neck in the hopes that she would hold on just a little bit tighter. She knew that her wishes went against what Grace thought to be true, and she hoped to any higher power listening that her actions didn't come off as unusual. She felt Grace's lips at her ear and the warmth of her breath as she whispered. "We could go to the office. It's not ideal, I know, but it's close and we won't be bothered."

Karen pulled away and brushed a lock of Grace's hair behind her ear. "Do you trust me?" Such a loaded question, coming from such an enigma of a woman. But despite her better judgment, Grace nodded. "Then come with me." She took Grace by the hand and led her towards the back of the store, down the stairs to the basement level. She could feel Grace's grip tighten as they walked down the stairs, realizing what was about to happen.

The lower level was deserted; walls of plays left alone for either lack of interest or uncertainty of the accessibility of the basement surrounded them for the most part. Karen threw the novel she had just picked up onto a nearby table, backed Grace against an empty shelf and pressed her lips against Grace's, trailing kisses down her neck to her chest. Something was wrong. Grace was never this timid in their other encounters; sure, there was some trepidation, but she always loosened up in no time flat. Karen found her eyes and asked her what was wrong.

"It's just…do we really want to do this here? In public?" It was one thing to explore these scenarios in the dreams; the people who could potentially catch them weren't real, and she could wake up at every moment. This was real.

Karen smiled, and for the first time that Grace could recall, it wasn't a smirk; it was a smile of reassurance. "First of all," she said softly, "what public? There's nobody down here. Second, I'm not planning on putting you in any extremely compromising position. We hear footsteps, we stop. I thought you said you trusted me."

Grace looked at Karen for a second. In that moment, any fear or hesitation washed away. In that moment, she only saw her, felt her. In that moment, nothing else mattered. She'd do anything. "I do."

She felt Karen's hand underneath her blouse, sliding up her skin. This is what it was all about. This is what made everything worth it. It was the element of surprise. But that wasn't all of it. She would be lying if she said it was all of it.

It was mainly her.


	7. Fireworks

_"This is like a well-oiled machine.  
>Could I please see that smile again?<br>It's all that makes me feel that I am living in this world."  
>~John Grant, "Where Dreams Go To Die" <em>

_July 1999_

She hadn't seen Karen in a week, not in the way she longed to see her, and she was completely and utterly restless. Normally, when they're together, the dreams won't come to her for at least a couple of nights; the reality of what they were doing was more than enough to satisfy the things inside her that drove her to her desires. But because it had been what felt like an eternity, the dreams came back. And they came back more vivid and more realistic than they had ever been. Maybe because she had a few reference points that her subconscious could base these images off of now. Still, she was longing for Karen's fingers to truly crawl along her collarbone, she was longing for Karen's lips to brush against her own before trailing down her body. She was longing to feel.

Had she done something wrong the last time they met?

Grace kept replaying their last encounter in their head—running into each other at a coffee shop before rushing to the office, a place where they could control their isolation from the rest of the world, a place that wasn't so intimately personal as to mix any facts from their life with whatever's going on now; Grace never understood why Karen never settled for one of their homes when no one was around, but she never questioned it for fear of accidentally putting an abrupt end to their arrangement—and every time she replayed it, she couldn't find anything that could have turned their situation sour. She did everything she normally did, Karen went to the places she normally went to. It was just like every other encounter.

Maybe that was it. Too much of the same thing. It would make sense, and although Grace loved it, she wouldn't blame Karen if that was the reason why. Maybe Karen was getting bored. She knew it would happen, she just knew it. She knew that she had nothing to offer Karen in return for the millions of things that Karen so freely offers her. She didn't know for sure that this was the reason. It could be one thousand different reasons. Whatever the case, whatever the reason for Karen's late-night absence, Grace was slowly—come on, who are you kidding, you were driving full speed towards it—going insane without her presence.

"Are you okay?"

She jumped at the voice coming closer towards her. Right. She was supposed to watch the televised Macy's fireworks over the Hudson with Will after a dinner that he cooked for them. She never understood why they didn't just find someplace to actually look out to see them. They lived in New York City, for god's sake; wasn't the fact that it was televised just for the rest of the country? Nonetheless, this Fourth of July ritual had been their go-to routine when all other plans had failed. She looked at him from the couch and put on a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, hoping to ease the concerned look on his face. "Why do you ask?"

"You just seem to be zoning out a lot lately. I told you dinner was ready fifteen minutes ago."

"You did? I'm sorry, I guess I just didn't hear you." Grace stood up and walked into Will's open arms, and as his hold became tighter on her, she realized that her secret trysts with Karen had started to affect everything else around her. She realized that the more she thought about and analyzed everything, the more absent she became in real life (that's what it had come down to after all, hadn't it? What she and Karen were doing wasn't technically real life, not if it hadn't been established by anyone other than the two of them. Right?). At that moment, Grace felt like she wanted to cry, out of guilt for whatever neglect she might have shown to Will, or anyone else of great importance to her. She never wanted to let a relationship consume her the way this did. And it wasn't even a relationship this time, just some casual bouts of exhilarating confusion.

She wasn't going to let this get the better of her. She still had time to dig her way out.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

Will pulled away to look at her and smiled. "You said that already."

"No, I mean I'm sorry for being distant, for spacing out. I know I'm not acting like myself. But it's going to stop. I promise. I'm going to be better." She locked eyes with him and hoped that the look emanating from them let him know that she was serious, that she was going to try.

He rested his hand at the small of her back and led her to the table, where he had set down the plate he had made up for her. "Come on, the food's going to get cold. Anyway, it's not your fault. I'm sure it's just stress. It happens to everyone, gets the better of us eventually. You've probably got a lot going on at work. Struggling to meet a deadline, or a pushy client, or…"

Fooling around with the assistant?

"It doesn't matter," she blurted out before he could finish his sentence. She didn't know what she was afraid of; there was no way he could possibly know what she was doing with Karen. But at the same time, she didn't know how long she could keep up this poker face. Better to just end it now, before she does herself in completely. "It's been a rough week. And an interesting few weeks before that. More than I care to discuss. I'm sorry. I just want to forget about it right now."

Grace was able to clear her mind over dinner enough to laugh when Will made a joke and respond whole-heartedly whenever he tried to start a new conversation. For once, she was not surrounded by over-analysis and what ifs and she enjoyed being with Will. This was where she wanted to be tonight. Once he had excused himself to his bedroom—he wanted to change clothes before the fireworks started—Grace settled back down in the couch with a glass of wine waiting for the show to begin. She heard her cell phone go off beside her. She had gotten a text message from Karen. Simple, succinct, but it was enough to get Grace's heart to speed up at the sight of it.

_Come outside._

Will was still in his bedroom. She thought that this was where she wanted to be tonight. But she couldn't help herself. He wouldn't know. She wouldn't have to explain why she suddenly had to leave, ditch their half-hearted plans. It was an easy out.

When Grace raced out of the building, she found Karen leaning against a hailed cab. She opened the door for Grace and motioned for her to get in. They spent the cab ride in silence, Grace looking out of the window trying to gain a sense of where they were going until they stopped in front of a nearby hotel. Karen took her by the hand and led her to the room she had rented for the two of them. Grace walked around, taking in her surroundings. It was always a different hotel every time, and she wondered if they would eventually come back to that initial building, the one Karen took her to when she walked through Grace's unlocked door in April, if what they were doing even lasted that long. Grace sat on the bed, laid down on her back and tried to take in the fact that twenty minutes ago, she felt light because Karen had left her mind, and now she was back where she started, completely absorbed in everything about her.

This was a crazy cycle, and she knew it. But she had resigned herself to it, and not unwillingly. In fact, it was getting harder and harder to imagine what her life would be without it.

"Come on, you're going to miss it if you don't hurry," Karen called from the balcony. Grace got up and made her way outside, saw a few flashes of light when she leaned her weight against the rail of the balcony. She had no idea that Karen had rented a room with a view of the Hudson. It was one thing to watch this on a television screen. But to actually have a view of the real thing was simply breathtaking. She felt Karen's arms wrapping around her waist, her body against her back. That intoxicating smell of gardenia came to her and it almost made Grace want to completely forget about the fireworks in front of them, if only to taste her lips. But she didn't want to move. She didn't want to chance it.

If she did something to mess this up, she may not see Karen for another week. But she had to say something. The silence was too overwhelming; they hadn't spoken at all tonight, and Grace was just dying to hear the sound of her voice.

"Why did you bring me here?" Not exactly how she wanted to start the conversation, but it was better than nothing.

She could feel Karen smile against the nape of her neck. "I thought it would be nice to shake things up a little bit this time around, maybe do something slightly resembling a date first to ease ourselves in." Wait. Stop right there. A date? Something resembling a date? Was Grace starting to get to her? "I'm sorry I haven't been available this past week."

"Why couldn't I see you all week, Karen?" God, she hated that she was full of questions. But that's what she was left with, every time.

If Karen heard her question, she didn't respond. "But I want to make up for it now. I want to make up for it tonight." The grand finale of the fireworks lit up the sky and for a moment, the two of them stared in awe at how powerful these bursts of light really were. When it was all over, and the remnants of the Fourth of July celebration were becoming less and less visible in the night sky, Karen grabbed Grace's hand and led her back into the hotel room. "Spend the night with me."

It wouldn't be the first time that happened; it happened the first time they were together. But they never put that out on the floor as an option; normally when Karen rented a hotel room, it was only for a few hours—trying to piece together how much it cost each time made Grace's head spin, and she tried not to focus on it. The only times, and they have been few, that they woke up together the next morning was because one of them had fallen asleep afterwards. And the fact that Karen voiced a desire to spend the night—in her own way, that had to have been what it was—made her smile. Grace made her way to the bed with a smirk on her face.

"I'm all yours," she said, before Karen plunged her lips into Grace's skin.


	8. What She Has To Do

_"I see you closing all the doors.  
>I see the walls as they go up.<br>I know it's what you have to do;  
>I'd probably do the same thing too, my dear."<br>~John Grant, "Where Dreams Go To Die _

_July 1999_

The light coming in from the balcony shone bright in her face, willing a reluctant Grace to wake up to a brand new day. She felt the sheets rustling against her bare skin as she turned her back away from the sunshine and slowly opened her eyes. The other side of the bed was empty, but she could still smell Karen in the pillow. If only the circumstances were different. It could be like this every morning. She could open her eyes after a night falling asleep next to a wonderfully beautiful woman and know that this is where she should be. She could feel Karen's lips first thing in the morning, and feel her touch right before she drifts off to sleep. She could get to know her little by little, more and more, every day. She could have more to go off of, their conversations wouldn't have to be so stuck in what they were doing. But that only happens when you're in love with each other. And it was fair to say that Karen wasn't—or if she was, she wasn't letting it show; she was always a wild card—and Grace was…

God. What was she?

It had to be lust; that's what it started out as. Pure lust. The dreams she had were never about love. They were never about being held in Karen's arms or little notes to show their affection. They were never about wanting nothing more than her company, their hands woven together as the moonlight peeked in through the bedroom window filling the room with a sense of peace that Grace had never before achieved. No. The dreams she had were never about those things she always associated with finding someone to love. The dreams were always about taking action. They were always about fulfilling immediate desires. They were about getting to the point, about not wasting any time. They were about skipping over the love notes and the company and the hands and the moonlight, only to get to what they, at that moment in time, truly wanted, and when it was over, it would happen again just as suddenly, just as urgently, just as satisfyingly as it always does. Their connection was based solely on lust—maybe Grace's lust more so than Karen's, but it was there, all the same. It was nothing more than that.

But how does that explain the way Grace was beginning to increasingly obsess over every single detail of every single encounter with Karen? If it was simple lust, if it was simple action, if it was nothing more than sneaking around hotel rooms and the occasional public place—how no one caught them at the bookstore on Broadway last month was still beyond her—why put so much thought into it? There's no work other than a simple request, something along the lines of "Come to me" or, if she was basing this on last night, "Come outside." The rest after that would simply come to them. If it was merely lust, she wouldn't be trying to take in the smell on the pillow, the sheets against her skin, the way she felt completely weightless and free the moment she woke up because she knew that she fell asleep by Karen's side the night before. If it was merely lust, she wouldn't have been hoping last night that Karen's arms around her waist would stay there all night. If it was merely lust, she wouldn't be hoping that at some point, she would get the notes and the company and the hands and the moonlight. This could only mean one thing, something that she never expected it to mean.

It was never part of the plan.

But, if she had to be honest, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world (there she goes again, trying to pretend as though she's not falling, never wanting to admit it…). She just wanted more than anything to know where Karen stood on the matter. Impossible to read, guarded by impenetrable walls. Grace not only understood it, but wished that she could do that. She wished that she wasn't so easily accessible, she wished that she wasn't such an open book; no matter how hard she tried to keep things to herself, they always got out in one way or another. It usually, eventually, became her downfall. She was awe-struck at how easily Karen could do that. But at the same time, it would help if Grace knew how she was feeling.

It would certainly help to know if it would be okay to fall.

Grace propped herself up on her elbows and found Karen at a desk across the room, fervently writing in what looked like a diary, an open pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the table, one already smoldering in the ashtray by the desk lamp. So maybe that's it. That's how she keeps the guard up, that's how she stayed safe; anything that didn't go with the image was written down and analyzed until she was satisfied, and then she locked it up and forgot about it, moved on before the next vexing moment occurred. It was a brilliantly smart move, but it was something that Grace knew she could never do herself. She knew she would spend too much time thinking it over; look at what she's already doing. She watched as Karen put her pen down with a sigh and folded her hands against her lips, reading over what she had just written.

"Damn it, Grace," she whispered. It was nearly inaudible, but it was there. And as much as Grace wanted to respond, she knew that Karen thought she was still asleep. She did something, she knew it, despite the fact that Karen acts like nothing's wrong. But she didn't understand what it was she did. She complied fully, she did what Karen wanted her to do. What was so bad about last night?

All Grace wanted to do was to touch her. The way the morning sunlight was hitting her, the way she was hovering over her writing, the lock of hair she missed when she pulled it up playing along the back of her neck. Maybe if she was quiet in getting out of bed, and just softly walked over, she won't completely disturb this serenity that was filling the room. Careful not to make a sound, Grace got out of bed, put on her underwear and t-shirt that Karen had tossed the night before, and made her way towards the gorgeous creature seated in front of her. She gently slid her hand up Karen's back. "Good morning," she murmured.

Karen jumped, slamming the diary shut and pushing it away from her at Grace's touch, at the sound of her voice. "Jesus, honey," she said. "You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were still sleeping."

For a moment, Grace couldn't take her eyes off of the diary. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." She took a seat on top of the desk and reached for the cigarettes and the lighter. "Do you mind?" she asked as she pulled one out of the pack and set it in between her lips.

Karen let a little smile play along her lips. "I didn't know you smoked," she said as she watched Grace light up and take the first drag. She had to admit, there was something sexy about witnessing this for the first time. She had Grace pegged as someone who didn't smoke, who rarely drank—in other words, nothing like her. She loved the way the cigarette was cradled between Grace's fingers.

The truth was, Grace rarely smoked, but she wanted to surprise her, even in the smallest, most trivial way. "This arrangement doesn't leave a lot of room to get to know one another." She played it off as a joking statement, but she didn't realize how much that sentence would sting her. And before she knew it, she let the question that she had been dying to ask slip. "How come you never tell me anything about yourself? I feel like you went into this knowing so much about me; I'm not exactly a closed book. But I barely know anything about you."

Karen let a sigh escape her lips before she spoke. "It would bore you. Anyway, what difference does it make if you don't know about my past? What impact does it have on what we're doing now?"

Well. She had a point.

"I'm going to go freshen up," Karen said. She got out of her chair, brushed her lips against Grace's, and made her way into the bathroom. When she heard the water from the shower, Grace turned her glance from the closed bathroom door to the diary lying on the desk. She picked it up, felt the weight of the book in her hands. It could be so easy to break down those walls without Karen knowing. All she had to do was turn the page. All she had to do was…No. This was ridiculous. Grace slid the diary back to its place on the desk. If she was going to learn about Karen, it was going to be from Karen herself.

She just wish she knew how long it was going to take.

* * *

><p>"Where did you go last night? You weren't answering your phone, you didn't come home. No one knew where you ran off to. I was worried about you, Grace."<p>

"You didn't hear me call towards your room last night?" _Where did that lie come from? What am I doing?_

"I thought we were going to spend time together last night, try and get your mind off of whatever work stress has been dominating it lately."

_Work, yes. Make up something convincing, do it quick. That's the perfect excuse. Thanks, Will._ "I know, I know. I'm sorry. It's just that when you were in your bedroom, I remembered that I never faxed over the sketches for the Donnelly house that they wanted the next morning, and then there were the finishing touches on a presentation I have this afternoon that needed to get done. I couldn't wait until the morning to work on it. I must have fallen asleep at the office, my neck's a little sore." _Too much? Too much. There's no way he's going to buy it._

_Come on, Will, say something. Anything. Don't leave me hanging here._

"Do you want to grab lunch before your presentation? Maybe I could help you out if you're unsure of some of it."

"Sure, I think I can grab a quick bite beforehand."

_Success._

_So if it's this easy to maneuver my way around a sticky situation with Will, then why is it so hard to maneuver around the walls Karen put up around her?_


	9. Pay Attention, Take Notes

_October 1999_

Ever since the fireworks, Grace was beginning to realize that Karen was inadvertently dropping hints about the person she was. As hard as it was to penetrate the wall that was constantly up, occasionally there would be certain qualities about her that would jump over to the other side, basking in the sunlight they were so strictly deprived of. It didn't happen often, but now that Grace was sensitive to the fact that there were things going on within her that Karen tried to restrict access to, she sharpened her focus in a desperate attempt to put something of heavier and more lasting substance to the name Karen Walker.

In July, once she began to catch on, Grace realized that Karen tried her best to keep their encounters new and interesting. One night near the end of that month had gone the same way as a night they had about a week prior. Grace could tell that Karen was a little preoccupied with the fact that they were in this exact position before, and despite her pleas of "Don't stop, keep going," she knew that Karen was slightly defeated; she could tell from the way she touched her. In August, Karen started taking her to coffee, for walks in Central Park, for journeys downtown, and that's when Grace learned that Karen didn't want her to think that she was just using her for the sex. It made her smile, it gave her a little hope, to know that when she was held in Karen's arms, she was held with respect, she was held with, if not love, then something vaguely resembling it.

And in September, when she opened her eyes one morning, she found Karen once again hard at work on that damn diary, and she learned that no matter how much she would pick up on, there were still a million more things that she would never gain access to. And while it was in the back of her mind, it was constantly there, crawling in the darkness until it found a crack of light and basked in it before racing back into the corner, planning its next escape. She knew that if she had more to go on, she wouldn't feel at a loss when it came to giving Karen as much as she gave her. It made her feel as though the small things that she had picked up on over the last few months didn't hold a candle to whatever it was Karen was keeping in the diary. It made her feel absolutely clueless.

It made her anxious to find what lessons October held.

Even now, in the office seated across from Karen, these thoughts would get the better of her. Normally they would take a hold of her mind at night, when she was alone in her room and couldn't sleep. When she was finally in Karen's presence, that's when she was able to clear her mind, because usually that's when she only needs to focus on one thing and one thing only. But now there's a silence that was overwhelming, as heavy as the silence that surrounds her at night while she's under the covers. Grace looked over at Karen, her fingertips cradling a flimsy page of her copy of _Vogue_, her cheek resting on her other hand. How can she be so calm? How can she be so relaxed in an environment like this?

Well, that's simple. Grace was incredibly easy to read, at least to the people around her. Karen knew what to do to keep her interested. It was all an element of surprise, while at the same time giving her a lot of the same—because, when it came down to it, didn't they always end up doing the same thing no matter what the locale?

Maybe that's it. Maybe that's the key. Maybe that will unlock the door that's blocking the cluelessness and the feeling of running around with her head cut off, and maybe that will let it flow until it leaves her completely. It was all an element of surprise. And Karen initiating every encounter wasn't the most surprising thing in the world anymore, even though it was still the most exhilarating thing to Grace. She knew what she had to do.

She had to be the one to start it.

Grace looked down at the sketch she was in the middle of pretending to work on, a bedroom for a young woman who had moved into the city fairly recently and was overwhelmed with the prospect of decorating her new apartment on her own. There was no way she was going to get any work done with all of these thoughts swimming around in her head. She tossed her pencil to the side and began to slowly move towards the other side of the room. Karen didn't look up from her magazine, she had no idea what Grace was doing, what her intentions were. Grace definitely had the upper hand, for the first time since they started all of this. She got next to Karen's desk and waited for her to look up. After what felt like an eternity, their eyes met, and Grace took Karen's magazine and tossed it to the side before she took a seat on the desk. Her leg was brushing against Karen's thigh as she took her face in her hands and pressed her lips against Karen's. For a moment, she felt Karen relax under her touch, and it was the greatest thing in the world, a high she had never experienced before. She was the one who caused this. Did Karen ever feel this way when she kissed Grace? Maybe in the beginning? Did she ever think about the fact that she was the one to take her to these places, everything that meant? It was brilliant. It was thrilling.

It was over far too quickly.

Karen pushed her away, shot out of her seat. "No," she said quietly, adamantly. She rushed out of the office, and Grace realized that this wasn't really shaking up their connection. It was merely another trait she picked up on. It was merely one more lesson to add to the list.

In October, Grace learned that Karen liked to be in control.

* * *

><p>She found herself on Park Avenue out of guilt.<p>

But guilt for what? For trying to navigate the increasingly complex waters of their situation? For trying to figure out on her own what works and what doesn't, because she certainly wasn't getting any help on the subject? For trying to give Karen even a modicum of what she was given? In any other relationship in any other place, these things wouldn't be considered crimes. But they were not in any other relationship, and they were about one hundred miles away from any other place. You should know that by now, Grace.

She knew she ran the risk of Stanley being home—it's funny; it had been months since they started everything, and this was the first time since that fated girl's night that she ever once thought of the reason Karen kept a gold band on her left ring finger. But from everything she had gleaned about him before April—and truth be told, it wasn't much, but it was all she had to go by—he was never very active in their home life, so if Karen happened to have an unexpected visitor come by the penthouse, it wouldn't make a difference to him.

It won't make a difference to him. Then why was she so nervous?

Grace found herself outside of Karen's door, her finger on the doorbell. Rosario came to answer her call, startling her at first. She had expected one of the Walkers to answer the door; she knew they had money, but she didn't realize they had staff. She fumbled for speech. "I, um…is Karen home?" she asked meekly.

Rosario nodded and motioned for Grace to follow her. They ended up in a first floor den, where Karen was at a desk writing in…oh god, it was that damn diary again. Was there no way for Grace to escape it? She would laugh at how much of a hold that inanimate and, in everyone else's eyes, trivial object had on her if she weren't the one who was actually in this scenario. Grace waited for Rosario to leave so that she would be alone with Karen. She didn't want to leave her spot in the doorway, she didn't want to move in closer to Karen; that had gotten her in trouble earlier today and she didn't want to mess up again within the course of a few hours. She saw Karen come to a stopping point in her writing before she spoke up. "Writing your life story?"

Karen jumped but didn't turn to the doorway to face her. "You know, you're getting really good at sneaking up on me today," she said, disregarding Grace's remark. There was barely any inflection in her voice, and Grace couldn't tell how she meant that statement.

"I won't be here long," Grace said quickly, as if that were to make up for everything that had happened today. "I just wanted to apologize to you. If I had known that that was how you were going to react to that, I never would have done it." She took a step forward to test the waters. "It's just that…I have no idea what we're doing here, Karen. Okay, that's not completely true. We've got the basics down. I know what to expect when you ask me to meet you at night. But I'm in some sort of sick and twisted limbo here. I'm trying to figure out what works and what doesn't, and you're not giving me anything. Which is fine, I'm not asking you to give me anything, at least not now. But I shouldn't be blamed for figuring out what I can do to make you feel something that's even slightly similar to what you make me feel every night." Oh god, she shouldn't have said that last part. Maybe Karen didn't catch that completely. Just keep going, Grace, pretend like it's nothing, maybe she'll just shrug it off. "I know we wouldn't still be here if we both didn't get something out of it. I just wanted to try something. Obviously, it didn't work."

Karen turned to look at Grace. The silence hovering around them was too much to bear, and Grace wanted more than anything to slice through it, but she knew she already said far too much tonight. It took a minute until Karen let a small smirk play along her lips. She closed the diary on the desk before she got up and walked over to Grace. She let her fingers slide down Grace's arm before they wove with hers and she whispered into her ear.

"Come with me."

Grace let Karen lead her out of the den towards the staircase. When they started to go up the stairs, Grace whispered, "Where are you taking me?" but to no response. Karen's grip on her hand tightened at the second floor as they passed a room with the door cracked slightly open. Grace took a peek through the crack to find Stan sitting on the bed, about to lie down for the night. Her eyes widened as Karen took her to a spare bedroom at the end of the hallway. "Now?" she whispered. "He's right there in the other room." Another smirk from Karen, another lesson learned: danger makes it more interesting.

"Are you going to be okay?" Karen asked. No matter how hard she tried, Grace couldn't find a voice to put the words to. Stan's supposedly checked out of the relationship. How dangerous could this be?

She nodded and Karen's smile grew wider as she shut the door behind them.


	10. I Wish I Could

_November 1999_

Words could not express how thankful she was that it was all over, a little ironic considering the holiday they were trying to celebrate together. It was getting ridiculous. There were about three people too many in that apartment, and she couldn't do anything about it.

It certainly was not the way she wanted to spend her Thanksgiving, becoming some odd supporting player in Jack's lie to his mother. And frankly, she didn't expect Karen to be anywhere near their holiday celebration; even though she threw an invitation her way, she never thought that she would show up and give away time spent with her family (although, if Stan was involved, maybe Grace could see at least one reason why Karen chose to break whatever, if any, traditions held by the Walker household). This emotional rollercoaster of a Thanksgiving dinner was becoming too much for her to take, from the blatant lies they were flinging around, to Jack's reveal of the secret he had been keeping from his mother. And all she wanted to do was to steal away with Karen, if only for a few minutes, just to feel her touch.

She thought the small things would help tide her over. At one point early in the meal, after she slid into the seat next to Karen with no suspicion around her, she felt the touch she had been craving brushing her knee underneath the table. She would slide closer to Karen when no one was paying attention, their knees would touch. It thrilled Grace to be in on something that no one else was, it thrilled her to be a part of something that no one else could see. But eventually, the thrill wore off and she was left with the desire to for Will and Jack and Judith to leave. And she knew that it wasn't going to happen easily, or anytime soon.

One by one, she watched them leave at the end of the evening. Karen was the first to go and it broke her ever so slightly to watch her walk out the door—all this time, wishing someone would finally make a move to leave tonight, and she's the one to break the ice. Judith followed shortly after, leaving Will and Grace to handle Jack before he finally decided to call it a night. She was on the couch with Will in a comfortable silence with no desire to move; she was still in the mindset that getting her own apartment across the hall was the right thing to do in order to keep their friendship strong, but on nights like tonight, the desire to make the trek over to 9A was nowhere to be found. They had exhausted their quips regarding the night they shared, causing Will to make the move to get ready for bed.

"Is it okay if I stick around a little while longer? I'll lock up." That particular string of words felt strange slipping from her lips. She had lived here long enough to permanently refer to this as home, whether or not she actually lived here; to ask permission to hang around on her own wasn't something she ever thought she would be doing. But Will gave her a nod and kissed her cheek, said his goodnights before heading to his bedroom and closing the door behind him. Grace looked at the front door and saw that it was unlocked. She figured she'd leave it so until she decided to leave and grabbed a bottle of Chardonnay from the kitchen before heading out on the balcony.

The chill of the late-night November air startled her at first but felt refreshing against her skin. She felt as though it could clear her mind of the last few hours and make it easier to sleep tonight. She took a swig from the bottle of wine—Will probably wouldn't miss it, and even if he did, she could replace it easily—and sighed as she looked out over Riverside Drive. These were the moments, she thought to herself. These were the moments she wished she could share with Karen, if their circumstance allowed it. It was the strangest thing; last week, she dreamed of Karen for the first time in a month, and it wasn't the dream she normally had. Karen didn't take her hungrily and passionately, leaving her breathless. No, this time they were in a generic room under generic candlelight, but the way Grace felt in the dream, and after she woke up, was anything but ordinary. It was all in the intimacy, the way Karen held her hand, the way she brushed a stray lock of her red hair behind her ear, the thousand things that so many others took for granted but Grace wanted more than anything. She wanted a night out on the balcony in her arms. She wanted to share this bottle of wine. She wanted to feel safe under her gentle kiss.

She wanted not to fall for Karen when she had no idea if Karen was interested in any of this. But she wasn't going to get that, either.

Grace felt the warmth of someone's coat being draped over her shoulders and jumped at the thought that someone had joined her on the balcony without her realizing it. Will probably couldn't sleep, found her out here and wanted to make sure she was okay. But the voice didn't match the assumption.

"Honey, it's freezing out here. You're going to get yourself sick if you stay out here much longer."

It was as if the mere thought of Karen conjured her up. Grace stared at her for a moment, unable to comprehend the fact that she came back. She came back. Why did she come back? "Karen, what are you doing here?" she asked. "How did you get in?"

"The door was unlocked." Right. How could she forget that so quickly? "You didn't answer when I knocked on your apartment door, so I figured you were probably still here." Karen pulled up a chair next to Grace and sighed. "I don't really know what I'm doing here, to be honest. I just wanted to see you. You know…without everyone else around. But I know it's late, I can leave if you're tired."

"No, you're fine," Grace replied, trying to take it all in. There had to be something behind those walls, something that screamed the same desires that she had. That something had to be the driving force behind this unexpected visit, the fact that she wanted to see her. But she still wasn't letting up, and Grace wasn't frustrated with Karen for not letting her guard down—if she were in the same position, there would be no question; that guard would be up and stay up for good—but rather frustrated at herself for not being able to be the person that Karen trusted to let it all go. But that didn't mean she was going to stop trying.

Grace felt the weight of the wine bottle in her hands before extending it to Karen, offering some to her. "Sorry I don't have any glasses. I'm not exactly going for class here," she said with a small smile that grew wider as Karen laughed and took the bottle from her grasp. It was light now. There was laughter, whatever burdens were placed upon them over dinner were shaken off of their shoulders. Still, Grace felt a lingering heaviness brought about by indecision and confusion. And before she knew it, she was asking questions she knew she shouldn't.

"What do you write in that diary?" she asked as she watched Karen freeze. And as much as she wanted to stop at that, as much as she wanted to take back what she had just said, she found that she couldn't stop herself, and everything started to pour from her mouth. "You have it with you every time I see you, at least since the summer, and I've seen you writing in it so many times, but you always shove it away as soon as you know I'm around. Why don't you ever tell me anything about yourself?"

Karen closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath, absorbing everything that Grace had said. "The diary is something that I need to keep to myself right now," she started without opening her eyes. "If the time comes that you need to know what's inside, I'll tell you. Better yet, I'll give it to you to read. It's not such an unusual thing, keeping a journal like that. It shouldn't concern you." She opened her eyes a crack as she thought about how to word what was coming next. "As for never telling you anything about myself, I don't know if there's any real point to weighing this down with little tidbits about my past or anything of the sort. At least not until we truly figure out what this is."

So Grace wasn't the only one trying to figure out what the hell they were doing. "Well…what is this?" she asked Karen.

"You tell me."

"I wish I could."

They let as much silence as was humanly possible above a Manhattan street surround them for a moment, feeling the weight of Grace's last sentence. There was never any room for analysis when they were together; every time they got together in whatever capacity, it was a whirlwind. They always got swept up in the action and it left no time to contemplate their situation. But now, against the moonlight and the occasional cab rolling along below, there was nothing but contemplation.

Karen took the initiative to break the silence. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't feel something," she said, causing Grace to lock eyes with her. "I just don't know what you want. I mean, I know the basics. I know what you're expecting and I know that you like it. But I don't know how to handle anything else with you. You need to tell me what you want to get out of this. You can take as long as you need to in order to figure it out. But until then, we have to keep going the way we always have." It was the first time Karen had voiced anything like this, and it left Grace speechless for a moment, unsure of how to react. Before she could find her words, Karen continued. "Do you have any other questions for me?" she asked.

Grace was still for a moment before she stood up, getting ready to make her way back inside. She turned back to try and face the woman who, if anything, just made her mind spin faster than it normally did. "Will you come with me? Back to my apartment?" she murmured, the only way her voice wouldn't sound like it was wavering, extending a hand to Karen. "Please. Spend the night with me. It only has to mean what you want it to mean."

Karen looked at Grace's hand for a moment, and Grace knew at that second that she would wait forever for her if she had to. She closed her eyes, thinking to herself that she couldn't see Karen's face as she eventually rejected her. Whatever small chance she originally had of Karen accepting her offer was blown to hell as soon as she asked about the diary. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes again.

And as she opened them, Karen slipped her hand into Grace's and stood up, waiting to be led out the door.


	11. Say The Words, Say Them Slowly

_"You have to play your part, my dear.  
>I've written it all down for you.<br>It doesn't matter if the things you say to me aren't true.  
>Just do it, then I'll let you go.<br>Just say the words and say them slowly.  
>I promise I'll tell no one; yes, I cross my heart and hope to die."<br>~John Grant, "Where Dreams Go To Die" _

_December 1999-January 2000_

_Look, I know there isn't much time left before it becomes midnight, and people are eventually going to wonder where we are. I'm going to try to keep this brief, but there was no way I could say everything I wanted to while there were so many people surrounding us. I almost didn't come tonight, I almost opted for a New Year's Eve celebration alone in my apartment, because I knew that with everyone you had invited—or it might have been him orchestrating the whole thing, I don't know—we couldn't find time for each other, and I would be caught in the same predicament I was in at Thanksgiving. But this couldn't wait. I'm finally able to put everything into words, and I need you to listen to me. I hope I can remember everything. Even if I can't, there's no going back._

_I know what I want, Karen._

_I think, on some level, it's what I always wanted. It was a subconscious part of what drove me to kiss your cheek back in April, shamefully taking advantage of a situation that I shouldn't have taken advantage of. It was a subconscious part of why I told you to come by my place that night after you kissed me in the swatch room. And it's part of why I'm addicted to our encounters, although I was becoming more and more aware of it as the days go by, until it became the main reason for my actions. But I could never really think about it, at least not with every fiber of my being the way I wanted to, until you said something last month, out on Will's balcony. When you told me that you knew the fundamentals of our situation, but beyond that you were clueless, I knew that you thought about it. Maybe not as much as I do—it's constantly on my mind now—but you were still thinking about it._

_And that made it okay to finally sit down and hash this out on my own._

_Before I tell you this, there is something that I want you to know; I love the way you touch me. I love the way you move towards me with that smirk playing across your face that tells me that I'm in for quite a ride. I love when you plunge your lips into my skin, and I love the way you sigh when I return the favor. I wish I could tell you what you do to me, but to be honest, I don't have the words to express it, they aren't in my vocabulary. They're probably not in anyone's vocabulary; that's how much you rock me. And all I've ever wanted to do was to be able to make you feel even an ounce of what you make me feel. That's the reason why I keep asking questions, trying to get some clearer picture of you as a person, so I could navigate my way around what makes you tick and keep the things that make you smile, hold on to the things that thrill you. That's the reason I asked about the diary in the first place._

_I got it in my head that what you were writing down in those pages was the key I needed to unlock everything I wanted to do. It was the secret I never wanted you to keep, even though I knew how logical the reasoning behind it was. It was because waking up to you at a desk with a pen in your hand, or walking into the room while you're feverishly writing had become more and more frequent of an occurrence, and the more often I saw it, the more I thought it had something to do with me. I'm going to drop it now; I won't ask of it, I won't speak about it, again. You're right; if it concerns me at any point and time, you'll show it to me. I don't want it to be a reason for this to end. I want to stay with you._

_As long as you'll have me._

_When you found me on the balcony last month, you told me that you had no idea what we were doing beyond the physical. I think that the physical was probably all that we had planned, or at the very least, all that we had planned on showing each other. We never talked about feelings, we never talked about connotations or insinuations. Frankly, we never talked about anything, and while it bugged me at times because I wanted to know what you were , thinking, I knew that if I wanted to keep this going, if I wanted to keep you, I would have to keep my mouth shut. And it worked, at least for a little while. But the novelty, while incredibly invigorating and exhilarating it still is to this day, has begun to wear off. I can't keep going like this. And something tells me you can't keep going like this either._

_I could be completely off about that, but I have my reasons for thinking it._

_Sometimes, when I think about what I want, I think that maybe it's too much to ask of you. After all, we went into this just to go into it, not because we had been harboring feelings neither one of us could control. And it makes me want to tell you that I almost don't care if you agree to what I have to say, only to bluff your way through it, to say one thing to me even though you really feel another. If I wrote down the things for you to tell me, would you say them, no questions asked? Or would you even need them? Would you feel the same way?_

_Wait. Don't answer that yet. I don't know if I'm ready for the answer yet, anyway. Just let me finish before you weigh in, that's all I ask of you right now. Of course, there's going to be more that I may ask, but for right now, this is all I want._

_Do you remember when you took me to that hotel overlooking the Hudson on the Fourth of July? We stood on the balcony to watch the fireworks and your arms were around my waist, and it was something that I had always wanted but didn't fully realize until it happened. That was the moment that I started to think about all of this, even though I had no idea where you stood, and no way to know that, even if I figured it out, you would be on the same page. We never talked about any of it; how could I possibly know? And when I woke up in the morning only to find you at that desk, I couldn't help but be curious. I heard you whisper my name while the diary was still open. That set something off in me, and it consumed me. But I know that it won't clue me in to anything, no relationship is ever that easy, no matter who's involved._

_I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said "relationship." That only applies to people who have a deeper connection than the mere physical, right? Which, to be honest, is the reason I took you aside tonight in the first place. I didn't realize until we got here that the room I dragged you to was the room you led me to that night I came by to apologize for starting something that you obviously wanted to start. I don't want Will or Jack to overhear; maybe they wouldn't care anyway. I don't want Stan to overhear, either; you keep saying that he's checked out of the marriage, but there has to be a reason why he's sticking around. But I wanted to tell you that I figured my part of it out. This is what I want._

_I want something deeper. I want to feel like I did on the Fourth of July; I want to feel that all the time. I want you to be able to tell me things you can't tell anyone else, and I want to be able to tell you things nobody else knows. I want to feel like I'm with you, and while I know that what this is isn't just about the sex, I want to prove that. Obviously there's at least one giant obstacle in our way. And while it's not ideal to go into a relationship with someone who's married, it didn't necessarily stop us before, when we were in the swatch room or in the basement of the bookstore, or even in this room. I can deal with Will. I can sneak by him and maneuver my way around it all; I've been doing it all along. I won't tell anyone. I promise you this. I want to be with you. Whatever that means. I just want to be with you._

_This is what I want, Karen._

_Is it what you want too?_

* * *

><p>Karen stood in front of her, silent for a moment, and Grace at once thought that she asked too much. That was the dealbreaker. She braced herself, trying to prepare for the moment when Karen walked out the door, effectively ending any connection they had ever taken part in. She didn't take her eyes off of Karen; she was willing her to do something, say something, anything to break the silence that was weighing on her unlike anything else. No, if it was bad, she just wanted Karen to walk, she didn't think she could handle the reasoning behind why this wasn't going to happen. She wasn't moving. Why wasn't she making a move?<p>

Just then, she heard the cheers of the Walkers' guests one floor below. It must be midnight. Was Stan wondering where Karen was? Was he waiting to give her that obligatory kiss? (If Karen knew the thought that just coursed through Grace's mind, she would laugh at her and set her straight; she hadn't had a New Year's kiss with her husband in years, and if she had to be honest, she didn't miss it.) Karen looked to the door, back at Grace, and made her move.

She brushed her lips against Grace's.

"Of course," she whispered into Grace's ear as she pulled away, only to bring her in closer, to feel the warmth of Grace's body against hers. She closed her eyes and smiled for the woman in her arms, who, a half hour ago, was visibly nervous in a sea of people she didn't know for reasons Karen wasn't completely aware of. It was only when Grace finally approached her that she started to get a sense of what was going on. But from the look on Grace's face before they went upstairs, she was expecting far worse than what she was given. The truth was, she was hoping that Grace would eventually come to this.

"Really?" she heard Grace murmur. It was quiet, and almost washed out by the sounds of the party below them, but it was there, and it fell into Karen's ear in the sweetest way that a small laugh escaped from her lips as she framed Grace's face in her hands and locked eyes.

"Really. All you had to do was ask." She glanced at the door quickly and sighed. "We should probably get back downstairs. Will's probably wondering where you are."

But instead of going for the door, Grace took Karen's hand and sat down on the bed and smiled. "What's the rush? I was just starting to get comfortable here."

Karen settled down next to her as Grace buried herself in her arms. They lay there in silence for a moment, listening to the crowd of people that Grace barely knew and Karen barely cared about carrying on downstairs.

It was the best way to ring in the New Year Karen had experienced in a long time.


	12. Moments Like This

_January 2000_

It had always been the moments that were as perfectly serene as this that made Grace fall in love with New York City in the first place. Those times when the chaos of the day-to-day and the stress that somehow always plagued you no matter how at peace you were became a distant second to the charm of the city streets, and the eclectic people roaming them. These moments were around all the time, but the places always varied. In the spring and summer, you could find them in parks—Washington Square, Central Park—and street fairs, the markets that close down Greenwich Avenue on Saturdays and allow you to roam the streets in a way that is normally forbidden. In autumn and in winter, however, you could find these moments in coffeehouses and bookstores, the warm and inviting buildings where the atmosphere was as laid back as the ones inside it.

She never had these moments anywhere else but here. And it stunned her every day that had she chosen to go to college someplace upstate, she might never have experienced it. She never would have experienced the way the snow quiets a city that had a reputation for keeping you up at night. She never would have experienced the fact that some of the kindest people she will ever know were introduced to her at concerts, in stores, when she least expected it, but in the city, contrary to popular belief. Always in the city.

There was no greater place to live, Grace was absolutely sure of it every time she walked out of her building to start a new day.

She'd put her adopted hometown up against anybody else's in a heartbeat.

She watched the snow fall on West Tenth Street from her seat at the window. God, she wished she had known about this place sooner. The coffeehouse that Karen had chosen was small and intimate, a cozy place that seated few but was warm to all. The smell of fresh chocolate chip cookies from the oven in the back surrounded her as her gaze was fixed to the street, as the concrete turned white and the traffic slowed. It was part of why she loved the Village; if you cross the avenues into the streets, there's a sort of quiet peace that you can't find in the tourist hotspots like Times Square. It was still Manhattan—the tall buildings and stale air made sure you never forgot that—but there were places you could take solace in when the traffic and the noise got to be too much. There really wasn't any other place quite like it.

After a few minutes she saw Karen walking in front of the window as her smile grew wider on her face. She watched as Karen shook out her hair in an attempt to free the snowflakes that inevitably got caught during her walk to the coffeehouse after the cab dropped her off at the corner, and smiled when she caught Grace's eye. Karen quickened her pace and walked through the door of the shop in a hurry to wrap her arms around the beautiful woman waiting for her. "I'm sorry I'm late, honey," she said breathlessly as Grace buried her face in her coat. "The snow's really coming down, it slowed traffic on the way here. Let me get you a drink."

"How do you know my drink order?" Grace asked with a grin as Karen came back from the counter and set down a vanilla latte in front of her before taking the seat across from her. She ran her finger along the rim of her mug and watched as Karen took a sip of her coffee before answering.

"Just because I'm not the hardest worker in the world doesn't mean I never pay attention," Karen replied into her mug. "Every time you make a coffee run, you come back with a vanilla latte. You've never changed your order in all the months I've worked for you. I think it's cute." She brushed her hand along Grace's forearm, before resting it in her palm. The warmth of Grace's mug could be felt in her hand, and Karen covered it, trying to preserve as much of it as she could. "I'm glad you were able to find the place relatively easily."

"It's amazing. I can't believe I've never been here before." Grace hesitated before she spoke again, partly taking in the way the light framed Karen's presence, partly wondering if she should even ask what she wanted to ask. But wasn't that what Karen agreed to on New Year's? Didn't she want it too? "Why did you want me to meet you in Greenwich Village anyway?"

Karen sighed not out of annoyance, but of inevitable admission with maybe a hint of nostalgia. "Well, I could say that it's because it's safer for us. I could tell you that it's because there's no way that Stan or any of his friends, any of that circle, would see us, and there would be no way of this getting back to him. But that's not really the truth, although it's definitely a bonus. Honestly, I visit these little places in the Village because that's what I did when I first moved to Manhattan, and it made me happy back then, so I try to find that happiness now."

"What? Really?" Grace couldn't help but let out a quick laugh, even though she knew she shouldn't. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. It's just that…well, I can't quite reconcile the image of the artsy, bohemian Village dweller with the image I've always had of you. You continue to surprise me."

"My first husband was one of those 'artsy, bohemian Village dwellers.' I met him when I first came to the city, and we shared a one bedroom apartment on West Eighth Street, just a breath away from here. He worked at a music venue down on Bleecker—I think it's a pharmacy now, but I can't walk that block without a flood of memories washing over me." Karen wrapped her arms around her own body and smiled for a moment. Grace had never seen her like this before, in a dreamy little daze that put her in a realm of happiness that nothing else could; if there was something else that could achieve it, Grace didn't know about it. "When he worked late nights, he would call to tell me to meet him at the venue and he would slip me free drinks at the bar while I watched the headlining act."

"Did you love him?"

Karen laughed at Grace's question by reflex. "Of course I loved him. But something went off in him that made leaving me without notice more appealing than our life together. My second husband was more for the money, although I guess there was some sort of affection for him that I harbored somewhere inside. I met him once my first divorce became finalized, and he was nice and treated me well. And even though I was set on supporting myself financially, I knew I never could, so when he proposed I said yes and just chalked up the fact that I wasn't madly in love with him to mere comparison; nothing could ever match how I felt for my first husband, so how I felt for my second husband had to have been a close second."

"And Stan?"

Grace watched as Karen closed her eyes and sighed, taking a moment to think. "I wish I could tell you," she said. "My second husband died, he was the first one to pay any attention to me after that. It makes me sound like a bitch, I know that. It makes me sound like my soul had been hardened to stone over the years and I just adapted to it. I did nothing to change it when I probably had every opportunity to. Sometimes I wonder why I let it get to this."

The smile that had danced along Karen's face had suddenly faded, and the silence that surrounded their table gave way to the quiet hum of other conversations and the obscure guitar music playing softly over speakers that were hidden from view. "You told me that you wanted to know more about me," Karen said. "There you go."

For a moment, Grace had the notion that Karen was simply saying all of this to give her what she wanted, what Karen told her she would more than happily oblige. But just as quickly as the thought came, it went away, and Grace was disgusted with herself for thinking that Karen would ever come up with an elaborate story for play. She pushed her chair across the floor, making a sound that didn't mesh with the conversation and the music, next to Karen and wrapped her in her arms, brushed her lips against Karen's cheek.

"You can tell me that your soul is stone," she whispered into Karen's ear, just enough to be heard softly. "But I won't buy it for a second. I know there's something there. It's what keeps drawing me back to you."

"I know this probably wasn't your idea of me easing my way into a more open relationship."

"But you let me in, that's the thing that matters. I'll take what I can get." Grace took a minute to feel the weight of Karen in her arms. She felt different than she usually did. There was a vulnerability that Grace wasn't used to but accepted and tried on for size. She rested her head on Karen's shoulder for a moment, gazing out the coffeehouse's front window; the snow still hadn't let up and it looked like they would be stuck in this place for a while, and if she had to be honest, she didn't mind it one bit. But she wanted to do something to lighten Karen's mood. "So you were a Village girl? You know, I'm sure we could find some oversized flannel if you want to get back to your roots."

There it was, that whole-hearted laugh that she had been dying to hear. She lifted her head to meet Karen's eyes and saw that the light that had escaped just minutes before had found its way back home. Grace smiled. "Will you show me around sometime? I never really spent a considerable amount of time in Greenwich Village."

Karen kissed Grace's forehead before she murmured, "I'll take you wherever you want to go."

A sudden rush of chill came through the open door as another customer left, opting to brave the increasing snow to get back to wherever he called home. Around her, Grace could hear conversations weighing the options, looking for ways to make their inevitable trek through the city. It's funny; they could be snowed in for days here, and Grace's smile wouldn't falter. As long as it meant she was safe in Karen's presence.

"I didn't think anything could match what I felt for my first husband. But you've gotten me closer to that feeling than I've ever been before." It was small, it was faint, but Grace heard it like it was the only sound in the place.

"I do my best," she replied with a smile before crushing her lips against Karen's.

It had always been moments like this that made Grace fall in love with the city.


	13. The Scarlet Rose

_February 2000_

He hadn't been home all day. Not that she was surprised in the least by this. In the last two years, especially, Stan's presence around their penthouse home had dwindled. At first, it went unnoticed by Karen; sure, he would come home late from work, or maybe he wouldn't be there when she woke up in the morning, but he always came back within the hour in the morning, he always called her when he was going to be working late. Then one hour became two, became three, became the evening. Phone calls became notes, became absent. And by the time she was left with no notice of when she would see Stan during the day, she ceased to care.

It seemed to be the way things always went.

But today was different. It wasn't as if she seriously took stock in this holiday—even when she was truly in love with someone, before she inevitably fell out of it or the one she love inevitably left, she was never a big fan—but even a little sign to let her know he hadn't completely forgotten about her would have been nice. He used to go all out for Valentine's Day, when they first got together. Then again, he was still married when they first got together, so maybe he pulled out all the stops because he didn't want her to lose faith that eventually he would divorce his wife and eventually she would be the only woman in his life. They always celebrated during the day back then, so he could go home to his wife in the evening and avoid suspicion. Maybe that should have been the red flag, the thing that told her to stay away from him. If only she listened.

It would have saved her a lot of heartbreak, a lot of lonely nights.

But she most likely would never have met Grace under any other circumstances.

Grace. She tried to hint at something to commemorate this day when she was in Karen's presence. But Karen tried to make it clear that she wasn't expecting anything, not just because this level of their relationship was so new, but also because she had gotten used to not expecting anything years ago. In all honesty, she wasn't planning on seeing Grace at all today; she didn't want to put any pressure on them, and today of all days is the one in which the pressure would be at its extreme. And she knew that any half-assed excuse as to why she couldn't meet Grace would come off as exactly that, so she didn't call, she didn't send her a message. She hoped that Grace wouldn't try to contact her, and she had been lucky; her phone didn't go off, there weren't any unexpected visitors knocking on her door. Success…although to call loneliness a success is a stretch.

Karen turned on the lights and settled down in the den with a glass of white wine and a worn Capote novel. She had read it at least three times since its purchase, not because it was her favorite novel, although she did love the story. But this particular copy brought back one of the first memories of Grace. That surprise encounter in the bookstore downtown over the summer, their risk in the basement level of the building. If she couldn't have Grace by her side today when in actuality she craved her, the evocation of the bookstore and the smell of Grace's skin against the abandoned pages and June heat. She had just cracked open the novel when her cell phone went off on the end table next to her. It was Grace.

_I really think you should come outside._

So maybe avoiding Grace wasn't a complete success. But, if she had to be honest, she was thrilled that the plan she set in motion had crashed and burned.

When Karen hit the chilly February air, the fact that at one point over the summer, their roles were reversed, was not lost on her. She remembered Grace rushing out of her apartment building on the Fourth of July at Karen's message, unaware that they were about to spend the night overlooking the fireworks at the hotel. Funny how at one point she would have raged against the idea of anybody but her taking control of anything. But now, the fact that Grace actually took the time to plan something to surprise her meant more to her than anything she could have cooked up.

"I know, I know," Grace said as she leaned against the cab, putting her hands in the air. The moonlight shone on her in the most perfect way, falling over her shoulders and highlighting her smile. "I know that you like to be in charge of planning out what we do and where we go. And I know that we never really talked about doing anything tonight. But I've been planning this for a little while now on the off chance that you'd actually go along with it. And I haven't talked to you all day, and I'm going crazy missing you tonight. I don't want to have to miss you anymore tonight. So will you get in the cab with me?"

Karen gave that smirk that Grace couldn't get enough of as she moved closer to the cab. She brushed her lips against Grace's. "Well," she murmured. "I can't argue with that." She opened the back door of the cab and motioned for Grace to slide in before her and the car drove off.

It was clear that they were heading towards the Village; she could see the places that became all too familiar to her as she wandered this part of Manhattan, the places she eventually had to acquaint herself with once the establishments she used to know went out of business or lost their lease. Granted, she didn't know the status of all her old haunts, but it was fair to say that the majority of them were now replaced with bars, a few subpar restaurants and at one point a café that served the worst coffee she had ever known. Karen looked out the window of the cab as the car made a turn before slowing to a stop in front of their destination. She heard Grace speak in a voice of hopeful anticipation. "Happy Valentine's Day, Karen. I remember you talking about this place a couple of times."

Karen got out of the cab and stared at the building in front of her in disbelief. The Scarlet Rose was a restaurant in the northernmost section of Greenwich Village that she inhabited the majority of her days living in this part of New York City, befriending not only the staff but the regulars as well. If she wasn't in her usual booth, she was at the small bar they put in towards the back. She hadn't been back to this street since she met her second husband; she didn't want to walk by and see that the place she loved most in the city had been taken away from her, replaced by generic fast food or another location for one of those coffee shop chains she despised. She felt Grace link arms and lead her towards the entrance. God, this place looked exactly like she remembered it: the color of the seats matching the name of the restaurant, dining by candlelight, soft and calm music through the speaker system. She wondered if the owners were still around; she used to spend time with them by the bar and at one point she called them friends. She didn't recognize the faces of the staff walking around, but this was still the same place. It had the same essence. They were led to the booth in the back corner, closest to the bar. It used to be her booth, the one she always gravitated to until everyone who worked there knew to seat her there. She slid into the same side as Grace, and as the hostess left, she heard her murmur, "I put in a special request for this booth when I made the reservation."

"I can't believe you remembered what I said. I didn't think this place was still around, I thought it would have closed down years ago. I can't believe you did this." Karen took Grace's hand in hers, kissed the back of it because she couldn't think of anything else to say. No one had ever done anything like this for her on Valentine's Day, on any day. It was perfect.

"I remember everything you say," Grace said cheerfully. "You just looked so happy when you were telling me about this place. So after I got home the first time you mentioned it, I decided I wanted to do some research to see if it was still around, and when I found out it was, I knew I had to bring you back here. I thought it would be something that could help make you as happy as you make me."

Karen couldn't help but laugh as she wrapped her free arm around Grace's shoulders. "Oh, honey," she said as she kissed Grace's cheek. "You're all I need to make me happy." She had said this to people in times of need, usually when she didn't mean it. But to feel it slip from her lips when it was finally the truth made it that much sweeter.

Grace could feel it, too. Which was why she couldn't control the words slipping from her own. "I love you," she said too quickly, before she could think about it, and winced as the words hit the air. It was the first time she said it to Karen, and this wasn't how she wanted to do it. But it was out there now, whether she liked it or not, and the silence taking over their booth was more than Grace could take. "Damn it," she said, hoping to redeem herself. "I'm sorry, I didn't…"

"Shhh…" Karen put her finger to Grace's lips, brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Don't apologize. Never apologize for that." Grace rested her head against Karen's chest, heard her heartbeat in her left ear. But with her other ear, she heard a faint but distinguishable "I love you too."

Grace looked up at Karen. "Really?" she asked.

Karen's smile grew wider on her face. "Of course. I mean, granted, I've told my share of lies to other people, but I have never once thought to lie to you. That's not going to do either of us any good."

Her lips met Grace's in a deep kiss that could have lasted an eternity. That is, if it weren't for the ring of Karen's cell phone cutting through the moment. They pulled away and laughed. "Take it," Grace said as it continued to ring. "I can wait. I've got all the time in the world."

Karen excused herself and walked towards the front door of The Scarlet Rose, put her phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" Stan. Always with the worst timing to take an interest in their marriage. Always a little too late and a little too abrasive.

"Why does it matter where I am?" It was harsh, sure, but she wasn't going to apologize for it.

"I just got home from work. I need to talk to you. Can you get back to the house?"

"Stan, I'm busy. I don't have a lot of time, and you've already got me on the phone, so just tell me now. I'm keeping somebody waiting." She looked back at the booth and found Grace peeking around to get a glimpse of Karen. She couldn't help but smile. For the first time in a long time, Karen felt as though everything was finally starting to fall into place.

But as soon as she heard the reason Stan called, her smile faded, and everything started to fall apart again.


	14. The Breakdown

_February 2000_

She didn't want to think about it. It had been two weeks since Stan's phone call at The Scarlet Rose, and despite Karen's best efforts to put it all in the back of her mind, it always came back. She couldn't escape it. She wanted so badly, so desperately, for Grace to take it away, but Grace could only help with what she knew, and Karen couldn't bear to tell her yet. Maybe in a few days when she decided that she could handle thinking about it long enough to find the right words and string them together for Grace.

But until then, she wasn't saying a word.

The moonlight was trying to break through the window of Grace's bedroom tonight. Grace was fast asleep in Karen's arms, their bare skin hidden by the sheets as Karen took her hand and kissed her palm. She could feel Grace move in her sleep to fit the contours of Karen's body better. She got lost in the warmth of Grace's body for a moment, the way that, even in her sleep, she still made sure that Karen knew that she was never letting go. It was something that she sorely missed, and she couldn't remember the last time she had that. It kept her wide awake, for fear of missing this when it inevitably ended. It made Stan's words swimming through her mind that much harder to handle.

He made it brief on the phone while she was at The Scarlet Rose. She still remembered what he said by heart, it still pierced the silent air at random points throughout the day. Two little sentences that rocked her in the worst way, and he hung up before she had a chance to defend herself, before she could make up some sort of excuse that could at least buy her a little more time. It was ridiculous how those words shook her so much. Two little sentences: "You're starting to get a little careless with Grace. John McGinley's wife saw the two of you last week and I had to cover for you."

She knew exactly who she was talking about. John McGinley was a colleague of Stan's who was too bland for Karen to have an opinion about. John McGinley's wife Astrid, however, was a snarky little bitch—Karen's choice of description, and she wasn't about to apologize for telling the truth—who survived off of the gossip she picked up whenever she could and downfall of others who weren't directly connected to her. This woman embodied everything she hated about the circle her marriage forced her to associate with. She had racked her brain on the way home that night, trying to figure out where Astrid could have possibly seen them; no one from her circle would be caught dead in Greenwich Village, and since Karen filled Grace in on the significance of the area, that's where they spent the majority of their time. It must have been when they went back to Grace's place on Riverside. That's the only place she could think of that was the closest to the McGinley home.

But did it matter where they were found anyway? Someone figured it out, someone told Stan. But what really shocked her was how cool and collected he was over the phone. He said what he did as a warning, but not a warning out of anger, but more of a concern for well-being, and she was almost positive it wasn't hers. Karen had been with Stan long enough to know that he would do anything to keep his image intact, and she learned that anything she did that deviated from that path had to be behind closed doors.

Even so, she expected a little shock from him after putting the pieces together. It perplexed her throughout dinner that night.

When she got home from The Scarlet Rose that night, Stan was in the den, ready to talk to Karen the way he intended when he called. He did all of the talking—Karen could only find the strength to nod her head or shrug her shoulders. It all made her feel like a child who was caught with her hand in the cookie jar on her way to spoiling her appetite for the dinner that was minutes away, and she hated it. But she listened to everything he said. Maybe it was his speech that rendered her incapable of verbal communication.

He had known since October. He wasn't stupid—his words, not Karen's; he heard footsteps in the hallway that couldn't have come from just one person, out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of red hair peeking in through the crack in the door, he heard Grace's hushed voice carry through the hallway despite her best efforts. And to be honest, he knew that an affair would be inevitable. The only thing that shocked him was that it was with another woman, but that shock wore off quickly. He told himself that as long as no one they knew found out about her extramarital activities, he wasn't going to say anything to Karen. And then on Valentine's Day afternoon, John McGinley visited his office to fill him in on what his wife had seen. McGinley told him that he spent the week trying to figure out first if he should say anything, and when he came to the conclusion that Stan had to know, he spent his time trying to come up with the best way to sugarcoat it. And who knows how many people Astrid has told; McGinley said that she hasn't said a word to anyone but him, but McGinley is also notorious for covering up Astrid's crimes. So if Karen has to continue with Grace, just do so in a more discreet fashion, because this doesn't look good for Stan in any way. Understood?

That was what crawled deepest under her skin. "Understood?" As if she couldn't control herself without someone reprimanding her first. As if she really was the child with her hand in the cookie jar. All she could do was nod and hope that he would leave the room. But he wasn't done yet. He told her about the latest business trip, clearing a few things up in the Virgin Islands starting in May. And if they were going to keep up this image of a contently married couple—not "happy," she knew that was intentional on Stan's part—it would be best if she came along for, if not quality time with her husband, then a free vacation. The flight had been booked, her ticket was nestled in an envelope along with his. Everything was already arranged. And before he got a definite answer from Karen about whether or not she was planning to go, he got up from his seat in the den and walked out. After a few minutes, when she knew that Stan was safe in another room, she raced from the den and out the door, straight to Grace's apartment. And when Grace asked her what was wrong, she couldn't give her an answer; she simply said, "Will you let me spend the night with you?" It helped, for the time being. But it always came back to her.

It had been two weeks since Stan called, since he read her the riot act. And she couldn't for the life of her think of how to break it to Grace.

She could easily not take the trip, effectively ending her marriage—there was no way Stan was going to stay with her after that. But it wasn't so simple for her. It was true, she felt nothing towards her marriage, there was no love for Stan, at least not in the sense that she thought love was. But she knew how everything was going to affect him if she didn't go. And she didn't think she could handle being responsible for all of that. It was easy before New Year's Eve; she and Grace were merely fooling around with no relationship, with no outlet to pour any kind of feelings into. But things were more real now. The feelings overflowed. And she was stuck.

Karen looked down at Grace, still sound asleep, and gently rolled her onto the other side of the bed before getting up and slipping a robe around her bare body. She fished in her bag for the diary she seemed to take everywhere lately, along with a pen, and walked out to a chair in the living room. She opened up to a fresh page and started writing.

_February 28: You're peacefully asleep in the other room, and as much as I loved feeling your body against mine, the thoughts in my mind were making the walls close in. I wish I knew how to make everything go away on my own, but I don't have that power; I don't think I ever had it. For now, I just want to take in everything in this room, imprint it in my mind so I never forget it, in case Stan wins and I have to leave. So I'm out here while you sleep, taking in the boxes you still have yet to unpack, the scattered candles all over the living room in an attempt to make this feel more like home, the way the moon makes this place shine a shade of blue I've never seen before. It's all as beautiful as you are. Which makes it so hard to be here sometimes._

Karen stopped writing and closed the diary, put her head in her hands. All she was doing was stalling, trying to delay what was bound to happen. It wasn't doing her or Grace any good. But didn't want to say anything until she knew exactly how to word it, she didn't want to worry Grace so far in advance that it ruins whatever time they have left with each other. She had until May to think about it; it gave her time. Grace didn't have to know right away. She just wanted a few more perfect moments before it came crashing down.

"Couldn't sleep?" Karen jumped at Grace's voice and turned to face her, the red silk of her robe falling along the curves of her body perfectly. "Why don't you come back to bed?"

"My mind's in overdrive," Karen confessed. "I'm okay, it's nothing, I just need it to slow down." It's nothing. That was the first lie she ever told her. It tasted so bitter in her mouth. She wanted it to be the last. She let the diary fall into the space between the chair and the cushion as Grace padded across the hardwood and found a place in Karen's lap, curled up with her head on Karen's shoulder.

"Can I keep you company until then?" Grace asked.

In spite of everything, Karen smiled, brushed her lips against the crown of Grace's head as she felt the arms of the woman she loved wrap around her waist the best they could. They sat there in silence listening to the rustling of the fabric of their robes against each other, listening to the sound of their breathing. The lump in Karen's throat was growing, but she wouldn't shed a tear; she wouldn't let Stan have that satisfaction. He could wait. Astrid McGinley could wait. This whole damn world could wait. She wanted a few more perfect moments.

She wanted this, for just a little bit longer.


	15. Falling In Love With Stone

_March 2000_

_There's a lot you don't know._

_It's not because I don't want you to know it; in fact, it would help my mind and my heart greatly if I were able to share these things that plague me, so I could get someone else's perspective, someone else's opinion that I could trust with every fiber of my being. Because while I love Jack, and while I'm closer with him than I am with all of the people who are supposed to be my friends put together, his mouth tends to move faster than his mind, and he's liable to end up blurting something out that he shouldn't before he realizes what he's done. You're the only one I can trust anymore, Grace. That's what it's come down to._

_And I can't even talk to you about it._

_I want to believe that it's because I want to protect you. I want to believe that I'm shielding you from the things you don't need and only letting in the things that bring you happiness. Because when it comes down to it, that's what everybody tries to do for the one they love. So that's why I still haven't told you, after a month of trying to handle it on my own, about Stan's business trip or his demands, or Astrid McGinley and the fact that she can't keep her damn nose out of other people's lives (I promise that I will tell you all about it, after I get out what I want you to hear, or whenever you ask me for the information, whenever you tell me that you want to know). Or at least that's what I tell myself. But the more I put any thought into this, the more I realize the real reason for my actions. It becomes so clear, so unavoidable, that I'm surprised that you don't see it, I'm surprised that you haven't figured it out yet. You tell me that you love me, and I don't doubt that for one second. But while your protection may be a small piece of motive behind my secrecy, it's not the real reason. I don't know if you're actually ready for the real reason, but here it is anyway._

_You fell in love with stone, there's no way around that. It seems like what you want. So I'm trying my best to give it to you, I'm trying my best to make sure that you get what you were looking for in the first place, and truth be told, it's one of the hardest things I've ever had to do._

_Let's face it, Grace. When you kissed me on the cheek in April, when you let it slip that there was something more behind your actions towards me, I wasn't nearly the person I am now. And the only reason I'm the person I am now is because of you. You're the one who told me to open up. You're the one who wanted to pursue this like any normal person, and I can't fault you for that. On some level, I wanted to as well. And believe me when I say that the last few months have changed me in a way that I never thought I could change, but have desperately wanted to for as long as I can remember. But try to remember who you kissed in April. Try to remember that it takes more than a few embraces mixed with an "I love you" here and there to completely dissolve that person._

_I learned early on when I met my second husband that to succeed in that circle, the Park Avenue elite that you can't help but hate even if you're one of them, you have to put up an impenetrable wall on all four sides. You have to build it with the strongest material you know, and you have to build it high so that even the tallest person can't climb over it. Emotion gets you nowhere, being humane stops you in your tracks—why do you think Astrid told her husband, who told Stan, in the first place, instead of merely just coming to me? So when someone tries to break through these walls—and they'll use anything to try to chip away at the borders—you simply reinforce what you've built from the other side to make it even more impossible to destroy what you've worked so hard to preserve. By the time I divorced my second husband and met Stan, I was a pro, I knew exactly what I was doing. And the artsy, bohemian Village dweller that you had such a hard time picturing me as had disappeared completely, at least on the surface. I did my job, and I did it well._

_Too bad I didn't realize the sacrifice of this success before it was too late._

_It became a way of life that I couldn't break away from. And even though I went back to the Village constantly, and even though I longed for those days back, I longed to put myself back in this scene and put the pieces of who I used to be back together, it was clear that it wasn't going to happen on my own. So I resigned to the fact that I willingly gave up the things that used to make me happy in return for love that wasn't true. But it was love all the same. Some people never get that. Some people walk this world completely alone, longing for an embrace, even if it's a false one. So I was the lucky one. This was my train of thought for years. And it sickens me now to see how horribly wrong I was._

_But, in effect, this is all why I haven't been able to tell you that we were caught, that Stan knows, that in two months, I have to go, and I don't know what that means for you and me. If I tell you everything that went on last month, I'll have to tell you about the emotional torment that it's resulted in. And that's not the woman who grabbed your attention almost one year ago. I restrained everything I had and you still wanted me for reasons I don't necessarily understand but won't question. Maybe that was part of the attraction. You didn't know anything about me, and that uncertainty about my character, about my being, was part of what thrilled you, at least for a while. Then you started to become too curious for your own good. You think I'm giving you what you want, and on some level I am. I'm telling you about my life, I'm letting you in, I'm showing what the nostalgia does to me. But that isn't the half of what goes on inside._

_And this is where it gets a little twisted; when other people spill everything just to keep their relationship alive, I'm hiding these things to make sure we stay afloat. Funny how life throws you the biggest curve balls, but you're still willing to catch them._

_You've kept quiet about the diary recently, but I know you're still wondering about it. In all honesty, that's how I keep this game going—I know that's not the best way to describe what we're doing, but that's what I thought it was at the beginning, after that girl's night in what used to be your apartment, I thought that you were playing a game but I was more than ready to take part in it. Everything that I can't tell you, I write down in those pages, because I have to get them out some way. I started it in June, when you walked into that bookstore a few blocks away from the office and couldn't believe that you found me there. It hit me when you asked me what I was doing in this particular space, when I told you that you didn't know the first thing about me (even after I started filling you in, I can't help but think that this is still somewhat true). So after we parted, I bought a diary to write in and as soon as I got back to my home, I went to the den and locked the door, so I could be sure that I would have the privacy I needed._

_I told you that what is in those pages doesn't concern you yet. And I truly thought that that was so. But last night, I read everything I had written since June—it kept me up for most of the night and I barely got any sleep. And I saw that it concerned you all along. But I knew that if I showed it to you, if you finally saw what I was writing down all this time, it would break down everything I had been trying to preserve for you._

_The stone you fell for would be crushed into dust._

_But you know what? Maybe you need to know it. Maybe it'll be different. Maybe you'll read it and nothing will change. I'm going to give it to you—it's in my bag right now, I'm going to stop writing in it. I'm going to say it to your face from now on._

_All you have to do is say the word._

This is what she planned on telling Grace today. She thought about it all morning, had it perfectly planned out. Grace had called her this morning, asked her to meet in Washington Square Park; the abnormally warm March day called for them to come outside. And after Karen hung up the phone, she figured out all the words, she figured out the way in which she would do this. They would be walking along the path in Washington Square, past the chess boards, past the playground, and she would give her speech. She'd pull the diary out of her bag to show Grace that she actually had it with her. And when Grace asked to have it, she would hand it over, before she eased her way into talking about Stan, about everything that happened last month and about the fact that she doesn't know how to fix it. A second opinion, a second perspective. It would certainly take a lot of weight off of her mind right now.

Karen hailed a cab, made the trek down to Washington Square with the determination she had been lacking for so long. This was going to be it, she was sure of it. She wanted to give Grace everything she deserved, and while she liked to think she achieved that for the most part, she needed to give her the intangible things as well: the facts, the truth (not that she hadn't been telling the truth, but she needed to explain the things she left out). She knew it wasn't going to be easy, but who knows? It could be the best thing for them.

She got out of the cab and walked towards the concrete of the park. Grace wasn't the only one who had the idea to come here; the place was filled with residents overjoyed by the brilliant weather after months of harsh cold. The fountain wasn't on, wouldn't be for months, and Karen could see children running around before climbing into the concrete circle, running around across the bottom. And as she got closer, she saw the shock of red hair underneath the arch that could only belong to Grace.

"Am I late?" she asked as she wrapped her arms around Grace's waist and kissing her shoulder.

Grace turned around with the biggest smile on her face and brushed her lips against Karen's. "No, I just got here," she said. Suddenly, her look turned from one of joy to one of concern. Could she tell that Karen had a lot on her mind? "Are you okay?" she asked. "You look like you're not one hundred percent here."

She could have started now. She could have told Grace that she needed to talk, she could have given the speech she spent all morning crafting and waited for Grace's response. But seeing her there, holding her in her arms, made her falter. She couldn't do it. She didn't have the heart to find out how it would affect them. She was supposed to be the stone that Grace fell for. It wasn't going to happen today.

"I'm right here," Karen said softly. "Everything's okay." Grace smiled and linked arms with Karen, led her along the path. Every time Karen thought she had the heart to let everything spill, one look in Grace's eyes made her fearful for the worst. Oh well.

Maybe next time.


	16. Late Night Confessions

_May 2000_

"Tell me something that you've never told anyone before."

Grace opened her eyes at Karen's question; she closed them to take in the feeling of Karen's arms embracing her body, the sound of Karen's heartbeat in her ear. To be honest, she wasn't expecting an inquiry like that coming from her lips; Grace always thought she was an open book that Karen had already read from cover to cover. For her to say something like this, softly in the silence of her Riverside bedroom at two in the morning, didn't make sense to Grace for a moment. She propped herself up on her elbow and met Karen's gaze. "Seriously?" she asked.

"Sure. I've been telling you everything. And that's not a bad thing, you know I love it when you ask me those questions. But it's been a while since you've told me something. I know you pretty well as it is. I just want to know you a little better." Karen stopped to gauge Grace's reaction. "Did I ask for too much?"

"No, no, you're fine. I just wasn't expecting it so late at night, that's all." Grace ran her hand along her face to try to wake up a little more—even though the wasn't asleep when Karen asked for a little tidbit from her, she still felt bleary and dazed—so she could communicate with her in a more alert manner than she could possibly do right now. She let out a breath and opened her eyes a little wider. "What do you want to know?"

"Something that I wouldn't think to ask. Something that no one would think to ask. Something I wouldn't necessarily expect from you." She said it playfully, as if it was a game. And in a way, it almost was a game, some form of truth or dare where the latter is inexplicably absent. Karen watched as Grace started to let a smile crawl across her lips, a sign that she was ready to play, and felt one of her own start to grow. "Surprise me, Gracie."

As soon as Karen first made her request, Grace thought of something no one else would know about her. It was the thing that brought them to this moment in the first place. The thing that set off this crazy chain of events that she never expected but whose memory she held onto as tightly as she could. But maybe Karen wouldn't react to the news in the way she hoped. Maybe she would say it wrong, or maybe the idea itself was a little off (well, of course it was a little off; how normal is it to dream like that about someone who works for you on a constant basis?). Any other person wouldn't react so well to that news.

Then again, Karen wasn't like any other person.

Maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe she'll say it and Karen will laugh in that way that doesn't mock, but warms everyone around who's there to listen to it. Maybe she won't ask questions, maybe she'd think it was cute, some little fantasy that eventually led to the reality. Maybe she'll just say it and in a minute, it will go away and she'll crawl back into Karen's arms and wait for the sun to come up. And really, when it comes down to it, what's the worst that could possibly happen?

"I used to dream about you." She let it hit the air and dissolve into the silence for a moment. She couldn't read the expression on Karen's face and scrambled to speak again, at least as some filler. "You know, before all of this started. I guess maybe that's why I kissed you on the cheek that night in April when I invited you over for that girl's night. Before I ran out of the apartment without telling you the reason. That was the reason."

Grace watched as Karen's face scrunched up in a mix of what seemed to be confusion and skepticism. Her smile was still there, but now with this look on her face, it didn't have the same meaning it once did. God, she wished she could take away what she said, come up with something trivial, some childhood memory she never thought to tell anyone because at the time it seemed insignificant. But she went with the one thing she never wanted to tell anybody. And now she had to live with the consequences.

"When did the dreams start?" A neutral enough question, but Grace couldn't help but think Karen was squirming inside. She wouldn't necessarily blame her if she was.

"About a month before you came by. At first I thought it was a fluke. It didn't really make much sense to me at the time, because I never looked at you like that until that point. I didn't even look at you like that after that point, at least not for a couple of weeks. It just seemed like some surreal thing the first time it happened and I tried to shake it off. But it kept coming back and I didn't know how to handle it."

"What exactly were we doing?" It was all that Karen could come up with; when she asked to hear about Grace, she was in no way expecting this. It was taking a lot to try to comprehend it all, and while she didn't condemn her for this—it wasn't as if Grace could help her subconscious—it made for something that was taking forever for Karen to digest properly. The last thing she wanted was for Grace to think that this had in some way effectively ended their relationship, but she still wanted to hear her explanations.

"Pretty much what we've done over the year. Minus the emotional connection, of course." Of course? Damn, that sounded callous. "I mean, it started out pretty timid, but then it grew into a fairly regular occurrence and the more often it happened, the more risky things became. Public places, that kind of thing. But I always woke up before it got to actual sex. And the more often I had these dreams, the more I started to look at you in a different way. I didn't mean to kiss you that night. But when you kissed me back in the swatch room after the weekend, I realized that you were just as intrigued as I was. Maybe for different reasons, but you were intrigued all the same. And then it blossomed into something that I thank whoever is listening for every day. I know this sounds a little weird, and I know it wasn't what you were expecting when you asked this of me. Part of me regrets saying it in the first place. But I don't regret the fact that it brought us here."

"No regrets," Karen said softly as she ran her fingers along Grace's arm. There was a question that had been lingering in her mind since Grace had told her when the dreams started. She almost didn't want to ask it, for fear of what might actually spill from Grace's lips. But she knew that if she didn't ask it, the question would be hovering over whatever they did, for however long this was going to last. And she couldn't have that. She couldn't be all that she wanted to be for Grace if that happened. She took a deep breath and braced herself.

"So, when you kissed me the first time, when we met up those first few months…was that all a game? Was that just to see what you could get away with, to see how much I'd allow?" That weekend after girl's night, after that first and fated kiss, she had for a fleeting moment thought that this is what it had been. But as time went on, it seemed to be more of a game to her than it had been to Grace, until New Year's, which made any inkling of a game vanish in a second.

Grace was silent for a moment. And it almost confirmed Karen's fear.

"I...I think maybe, in the beginning…maybe it was." Grace closed her eyes for a moment, knowing how that sentence sounded, knowing what it implied, and knowing that it wasn't true, but it wasn't going to matter if Karen's mind was racing a mile a minute like she thought it was. "I think part of why I started doing what I did in the first place was because I wanted to see if this could be real. I wanted to see if it wasn't just in my mind. But I was so confused back then and I didn't know what I wanted. I know what I want now. I want you. I only want you. It's not a game anymore, it hasn't been for a long time, if it was even one to begin with. I didn't think that someone like you could actually be interested in someone like me. Obviously I was wrong. About a lot of things, really. But you helped me see that."

Silence. What else could she say? What else could either of them say? Grace told Karen that it started out as a game. Who's to say that it still wasn't, even if Grace wasn't admitting it, even if Grace wasn't completely aware that it was still a game?

Where did that leave them?

"I don't think we should talk about this anymore," Grace said meekly.

"You're probably right."

"Why don't we make it your turn?" Grace posed in order to change the subject completely. She knew that she had just put the heaviest weight she possibly could on their night—it would be hard to get to sleep with all of this on their minds—and she wanted to help undo the damage she caused. "Why don't you tell me something that I would never think to ask you?"

Well, that was obvious. Karen still hadn't filled her in about Stan, about the mess she made, about his business trip. To be honest, she hadn't even thought about whether or not she was going to accompany him on his trip. Every time she tried to come to a conclusion about it all, she found herself more confused, and more lost. And she didn't want to bog Grace down with her problems. But in light of the conversation they just had, she figured the least she could do was give Grace something as heavy as she had given Karen.

So what the hell?

"I leave for the Virgin Islands in a week with Stan, to try to fix what I've done. I'll be gone for a couple of months."


	17. Crown A Winner

_May 2000_

"You're…you're what?"

"You heard me, Grace."

"You couldn't have told me, I don't know, when you first found out about it? Come on, Karen, you had to have known about this for at least a couple of months. The very least you could have done was give me a heads up that this was going to happen? So I could prepare for it?"

"Do you really think that hadn't have crossed my mind? God, honey. I've been spending the last three months trying to find the right words to break it to you. Do you remember Valentine's Day? I took that phone call, and when I came back, I was trying to pretend that it didn't faze me, but you knew that it was tugging at me, but you didn't say anything. You weren't going to push me. Stan was on the other end of the phone. He didn't tell me about the Virgin Islands right then, but he was getting around to it. I talked to him when I got home afterwards. And since then, I've been bashing my brain trying to figure out how to tell you."

"It's just a trip, Karen. A business trip, no less. Stan probably doesn't need your presence in order to successfully do…whatever it is he has to do in the Virgin Islands. What kind of business would anyone have in the Virgin Islands anyway? No. Never mind. I'm getting entirely off-topic. But it's his business trip. It doesn't concern you, other than the potential of a free vacation. It's not like you have to go."

"You don't know the half of it."

"So tell me."

"Gracie…"

"Tell me! There's obviously something that I need to know. I hate that you're keeping this from me. What happened that's got you so worked up?"

"We were caught. The wife of one of Stan's colleagues saw us together, told her husband, he told Stan. I don't care that Stan knows; in all honesty, he could care less about what I do outside of the marriage. It's like I told you, he's been checked out of the marriage for years now, and I never wanted to admit it until now, but I am too. But that doesn't mean I don't care about him anymore as a person. It's one thing for Stan to know and not do anything about it. It's one thing for him to keep it to himself. If he were the only one to know about it, I probably wouldn't be going with him next week. But someone else knows now. Someone who's under no promise to keep this to themselves. I may be going down, but I am not about to take Stan down with me. He hasn't done anything. In a way, that's what led me to you in the first place. But I am not about to make him look like a fool for something that I've done, something that's entirely my fault."

"Wait a minute. Just stop. Are you telling me that you're going on this trip so you can help Stan keep up appearances to these idiotic socialites you despise for being the fakest bunch of people you've ever met? You do realize that you're going to be playing right into their hand if you do this. You know that you pretending to be Stanley Walker's content little bride when you know you're miserable in that role is just as fake as the things his circle does that I've heard you laugh at. I get that you don't want to hurt him, but you're killing yourself slowly in the process. You're lying to yourself, you're lying to Stan. You're lying to everyone. And that's something I will never understand."

"I didn't ask you to understand it, Grace. I just told you what I had to do. I wasn't asking for sympathy, I wasn't asking for your opinion. I hadn't even made my decision until tonight. As the trip was getting closer, I even started thinking of the best ways to tell Stan that I wasn't going to go. And I knew what that meant; if I didn't help him put on this play, I was effectively putting an end to the marriage. And I was perfectly fine with it, I was even looking to the future, when he was supposed to come home, and I would start filing divorce papers. But tonight, I realized that it wouldn't do anyone any good to give up like that."

"'Give up like that'? Are you hearing yourself right now? You wouldn't have invested any sort of time with me if you weren't eventually going to give up on your marriage. I don't get it. And I know you're not expecting me to understand, but give me a break. Try to help me follow this, because it would be great to know what your logic behind this is, no matter how twisted. You told me that you didn't make the decision to go to the Virgin Islands with him until tonight. And you were obviously leaning towards staying in Manhattan. So what the hell made you change your mind about all of this?"

"Honestly?"

"Karen, come on."

"It's you, Grace."

"I...I can't even…what did I do tonight?"

"You told the truth. You told me your motives behind starting all of this. It was all a game to you. And you know what? In the beginning, when you made the first move and kissed my cheek on girl's night before racing out the door, I was treating it like a game too. I was trying to figure out what you were doing, planning my opposition so I could defend myself. But I quickly realized that I didn't want it to be a game. I wanted it to be real. So that's the way I've been treating it all this time, even if it doesn't seem like it to you. You tell me that you think it used to be a game, you tell me that you wanted to see if someone like me could ever fall for someone like you. Well, you did it, Grace. I fell for you, easier than I've fallen for anyone that came along before you. But for all I know it could still be a game."

"What? No, Karen, you don't understand…"

"You can't tell me that you've changed the way you've acted from the first kiss until now."

"No, but that doesn't mean anything."

"I'm fine with the fact that you used to dream of me. But the fact that that's the only thing that triggered all of this kills me every time I think about it. It was all a game. You wanted to play with me, and you were the last person I ever thought would do something like this. I trusted you."

"But does it matter what it started out as? I love you now, I always will, Karen. You have to know that. You have to believe me now. I love you."

"You made me feel like it was based on love in the first place. That's what you acted like. I don't know if I can believe you now. I need to leave, I can't be here anymore. Not tonight."

"Karen, please don't go."

"You got me to fall for you, Grace. Game over."

"Karen…"

"You won. It's done now."

* * *

><p>Karen grabbed her bag on her way out the door and fished out the diary she had been keeping since June. She tossed it onto the kitchen counter and closed her eyes at the sound that it made when the book hit the hard surface. It was rough and deafening, an effective punctuation mark at the end of the dismal sentence that comprised this evening. She didn't turn back to face Grace. But as she opened the door she stopped and let out a quick sentiment before leaving Riverside Drive.<p>

"That was how I kept the game alive. That was how I made sure I was the stone that you decided you wanted to play with."

When she walked outside the building, into the late-night air, and hailed a cab to take her to Park Avenue. When she got to her door, she walked upstairs and found Stan asleep in their bed, as if nothing had happened, as if the world was still turning. Well. The world was still turning. She just was feeling less and less like she wanted to be a part of it. Karen moved further down the hallway, into her closet.

She grabbed her empty suitcases and, knowing that she wasn't going to be able to sleep, got an early start on her packing.

Grace stood in the living room of her apartment for a few minutes, staring at the door, deluding herself into thinking that if she stayed here, willing Karen to come back, she would. But enough time went by to make her realize how foolish she was in her thinking. She walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up the diary, felt the weight of it in her hands. She remembered a time when she wanted to desperately to open its pages and read everything Karen couldn't say out loud. Now, it was too heavy for her to think about. She threw it back down in its place—the sound wasn't nearly as definitive as it had previously been—and with tears in her eyes she went back to her bed.

She tried to sleep.

But she knew it wouldn't happen.


	18. Where Dreams Go To Die

_"Baby, you're where dreams go to die.  
>I regret the day your lovely carcass caught my eye.<br>Baby, you're where dreams go to die.  
>I've got to get away, I don't want to, but I have to try,<br>__Oh, baby..."  
>~John Grant, "Where Dreams Go To Die" <em>

_May 2000_

You are where dreams go to die.

Part of me wants to regret ever looking at you, ever taking that chance, even though it made me so happy. Part of me wants to hate you, but I'm not quite sure why. For the way you dropped the bomb on me? For the way you left the diary on the kitchen counter, making a grave sound that at once sounded so familiar yet so grave and alien to me? For the way that you ignored the phone every time I called (the first couple of times I dialed your number, I gave you the benefit of the doubt, thought that maybe you were out of the house, but the more my fingers executed the digits, the more I realized that this was all on purpose)? For the way you neglected to show up at work for the week leading up to your flight?

Or maybe for the fact that while I'm here still trying to piece together exactly what happened that night last week, after our skin touched under the sheets but before you slammed the door, you're on the plane that will take you to the false life you're trying to salvage? Maybe you've already landed and you've delved into this grossly inauthentic image. I wonder if you're starting to believe it yourself. I'd like to think that you're not that gullible. But I also liked to think that we had a shot at getting through whatever was thrown at us. And I was wrong about that one.

I still haven't read your diary. The morning after you left, I decided that to read it would only sink me deeper into your waters. It wouldn't help me to get away. It wouldn't help me to forget about whatever we had. Yes, I was curious about what you had written. I was curious as hell. Why wouldn't I be? I've been dying to know about the things you couldn't tell me since I first saw you writing them down in July, after the fireworks, after my first taste of what it would be like to be your lover instead of your toy to play with whenever you were bored (okay, maybe that's a little extreme, but give me a break here, you did just walk out on me to go off and play house in a loveless marriage). But right after you left, I had it in my head that what I was going to read in your pages, it was going to hurt me more than I ever wanted them to, and I didn't know if I could take it.

But now I'm not so sure.

The diary is in the same place on the kitchen counter. I didn't dare move it; the moment attached to it seemed to monumental to disturb. But I've been staring at it every time it is within my view. And every time I look at it, the feeling that the words on those pages will be painful starts to fade, and I'm left with the desire to flip through, scour your sentences and leave no letter unnoticed. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it will help me get over you. Maybe it will help me to leave this as easily as you have.

You have a hold on my mind that is so tight, I can't find a way to weaken it. And I'm willing to try anything at this point because honestly, I can't keep doing this. You'll be gone for a few months, I won't be able to see you, to talk to you, to hash this out the way I want to. So in a way, this diary is the only thing I have to quell my frustrations, to regain control of my thoughts. Walking over to the counter, I pick the book up and open its cover.

Just a few pages, a few entries. What could be the harm in that?

* * *

><p><em>June 14: I feel like a criminal. Stan's sleeping in the bed across the room from me, and I'm huddled around this thing like I've got the biggest secret in the world to hide. But I guess now I do. I told you in the bookstore today that you didn't know the first thing about me, and I didn't mean to be cruel; it's simply a fact. Which is why I'm writing in this. Maybe someday I'll be able to show it to you, so you can get to know a little more about me. But right now, it doesn't seem appropriate, considering what we've been doing. Maybe someday won't be too far away. I really hope it isn't.<em>

_July 5: I wish I could tell you what you do to me. The way that those sighs slip from your lips when I touch you hit me means more to me than anything else has. As long as I can keep you happy, I have a purpose. But when you shiver against my touch, I can't help but think that you feel a chill coming from me. Let's face it; you've always thought of me as this cold person, and maybe that's part of the reason you went for me in the first place. And it kills me to know that I can't do anything to break through that image. I just want to give you what you want. And right now, this seems like what you want._

_January 1: God, I can't tell you how grateful I am for the fact that you pulled me aside, that you told me what you truly want. It's what I've been wanting to give you this whole time. Still, I want to continue to write in these pages, just in case. I will let you in, I promise you I will. I just want to ease my way into it. Part of me still thinks that you're in love with stone. So let's see where this takes us._

_February 28: You're peacefully asleep in the other room, and as much as I loved feeling your body against mine, the thoughts in my mind were making the walls close in. I wish I knew how to make everything go away on my own, but I don't have that power; I don't think I ever had it. For now, I just want to take in everything in this room, imprint it in my mind so I never forget it, in case Stan wins and I have to leave. So I'm out here while you sleep, taking in the boxes you still have yet to unpack, the scattered candles all over the living room in an attempt to make this feel more like home, the way the moon makes this place shine a shade of blue I've never seen before. It's all as beautiful as you are. Which makes it so hard to be here sometimes._

_March 14: I'm going to do what I can to make sure I stay. You're too important to me to leave. But at the same time I feel so helpless because I know what Stan expects and I don't know what's going to happen if I flat out reject him. But if it's you that's by my side at the end of it all, I'm willing to find out. I even came up with all the words I knew I had to say to you, so you knew everything that was going on. I was even ready to give up this diary to you, so you knew me with no reservations. But the look in your eyes today was so refreshing, so carefree, that I didn't want to ruin it. I will tell you. I have to tell you. Just not now. I couldn't put that weight on your shoulders._

_May 16: I love you. I don't say it nearly as often as I should. I love you, I love you, I love you. I want to say it enough to make up for my absence, if I have to go (and it's looking more and more like I have to). I want to say it to make up for all those months that went by without it. I want to say it so you'll believe me, but I think you already do. I want to say it just to say it. I want to say it because it's true. I can't bear to think of leaving. But if I go, I'll go kicking and screaming. I'll call. I'll send letters. And each time, I will tell you that I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. God, I love you._

Oh god. What have we done?

* * *

><p>Grace closed the diary and rushed to the phone, picked it up from the cradle and started dialing. She knew it was useless, but at this point, she could care less. Four rings, the answering machine. She knew what she was getting herself into. And at the sound of the tone, she did her best to find her voice.<p>

"Karen. I know this isn't going to do me any good right now. I know you're not going to get this for at least a couple of months. But I don't know how to reach you in the Virgin Islands and if I don't get this out now, I'll lose my nerve if I don't lose the words entirely first. I'm not playing around. And I'm sorry that I made you feel like I was. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Whatever motives I had going into this don't hold a candle to the way you hold me, the way you whisper into my ear, the way your heartbeat lulls me to sleep. You have to know that I love you. I wouldn't have still been there if I wasn't in love. I don't know if anything is going to come out of this message. For all I know, you've already quit on us in your mind. But I'll do whatever it takes, whenever you need me to do it. I love you."

She hung up the phone and waited.


	19. Welcome Home

_October 2000_

The trip lasted longer than she ever wanted it to.

She was fine in the beginning, surprisingly. She welcomed the time to separate herself from her messes in Manhattan with open arms. And since she held up her end of the bargain with Stan—she got on the plane, she journeyed with him to the house they were staying in, she made it seem like everything was fine between them to the outside world—he left her alone. But soon enough, she craved human touch. And not from him. No. Karen was outside of the affair, but that in no way meant that she wanted to go back to the way things were before, long before, back when everything was new and they had so many things to explore together. The last train back to that place had left the station long ago, and she wasn't standing on the platform to will it to come back and pick her up, but rather to make sure that it would never come around again. She couldn't take him anymore.

To her surprise, Will was in the area, ended up aiding Stan in his work the entire time. And it killed Karen. She knew that he would be on the phone with Grace, getting updates about life back in Manhattan, what she was doing, how she was holding up. But she also knew that everything she did with her beautiful red-headed lover, she did behind Will's back, and any random inquiry about her could be seen as taking too much of an interest, which, at least to Will, was far from her character.

One day, she had invited him for a couple of drinks, just to show some sort of hospitality—she had shrugged it off as a way to play nice since she would be seeing a lot of him during her time here—but with a hidden motive of finding out about Grace. She figured out how she would ask the questions she wanted to know, slyly, slowly, waiting until he had a small buzz to start asking the more important questions. But by the time that Will arrived, and by the time the first drinks were poured, Karen opened by asking how he was. Little did she know she would get the lengthy story about how he was in a period of indecision, he was lost, and that was what brought him here. The only reference to Grace was how his leaving so unexpectedly may have affected her. And by the time her name had even left his mouth the first time, Karen had lost the heart to go through with her plan.

But, instead of thinking on all of the things she might have gotten out of Will, she used her energy to analyze the situation she was stuck in.

Two months into their trip, Karen decided that she was going to file for divorce. Not that she would come home to another person's arms after everything is said and done; she took care of that in May, even though she in no way wanted to. But while she knew long ago that she was not happy, that she was only withering in her Park Avenue penthouse, it took that first kiss from Grace to light the fire that would get her to move. And god, how she moved. She moved parts of her soul that had been in slumber for years, parts she had forgotten about, parts she never knew she had. If anything, she could thank Grace for that, if nothing else comes of it, if everything was over for good.

She didn't want it to be completely over. But it had been five months since she left for the Virgin Islands. Five months since she discarded the diary with such force that she could still feel the ripple of the action through her body if she stayed still and concentrated hard enough. Five months since she thought that Grace was just playing and she decided that she couldn't have that.

She realized now that that was the furthest thing from the truth. A lot of good that does her now.

Three weeks ago, when Stan told her the date of their departure from the Virgin Islands, she responded by telling him that she couldn't do this anymore. She couldn't pretend, and she didn't want to in the first place. She hated everything about it, playing house with a man she no longer loved and could barely stand to be in the same room with (she knew that was harsh as soon as she said it, but he wasn't shocked; if anything, he understood how she felt completely). He had listened to everything she said to him, and instead of putting up a fight like any other spouse who wanted to give their marriage a fighting chance, he had simply said, "As soon as we get home, I'll call the lawyers."

They barely said a word to each other for the rest of the trip.

As soon as they landed and got back to Park Avenue, Stan made his way to his office while Karen made her way around the first floor of their penthouse. It was late when they got home, and Stan would most likely wait to make the phone call that would separate them for good. She made her way into the kitchen, found a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. And for the first time in at least a year, she had no idea what to do with herself.

She wasn't about to go to bed; her mind was spinning too fast for her to close her eyes and succumb to the darkness. And she knew she would probably regret it if she stayed down here and finished off this bottle of wine herself (the fact that she had absently grabbed a bottle of Chardonnay before realizing what she had done was not lost on her, and reminded her of Grace. Thanksgiving night, last year, when they were both longing for a minute alone, away from the chaos of the holiday. Karen came back to the apartment because of Grace. She just wanted to see her, be in her presence. The hold Grace had on the Chardonnay bottle in her hand was stunning—amazing how even the most trivial things can sometimes be the most beautiful. It all came rushing back now as she held a glass of her own Chardonnay in her hand, making it impossible to concentrate on anything). And she had given away the one thing she knew would help her right now.

God, she wished she still had that diary. Not that it would serve any purpose other than her own benefit, but it was almost like a crutch or a security blanket. It was the one place she could spill all of her thoughts safely without thinking twice. She wondered if Grace had actually read what she had written. She wondered if Grace had seen that she cared about her more than she had ever cared about anyone. No. This wasn't the time to load on more thoughts that would only make her sink further in the end. Now was the time to go into her own office—well, it wasn't technically an office; it was basically her own space free from everyone else's imprint—and grab a notebook and a pen.

_October 12: It's been five months and I feel like time stopped still in Manhattan, while I was off protecting something I never wanted to protect in the first place. I land, I leave the airport, and it feels like May, the wounds from our last night, our last fight, as fresh as ever. And I don't think they'll ever scar. They certainly haven't in the months that I was away. I wonder if it's the same for you. I wonder if it's still May for you. It probably isn't. It's probably October, like it should be, like it is for everybody else. You've probably moved on. Any wounds that I may have caused—and that's making me sound powerful than I'm sure I really am—have surely scarred by now, and maybe the scars have become so miniscule that you can't see where I've hurt you anymore. And as much as I want you to be happy, as much as I want you not to hurt, I can't help but be selfish. If you're happy, I want it to be with me. I want it. I want, I want, I want. I need. My mind is spinning with the need._

Karen glanced up from her makeshift journal quickly, but it was enough to see the flashing red light on her answering machine. Her brow furrowed with confusion as she reached over to push the play button. This was her private line, but only a few people had the number, and no one had left messages, let alone call, in a long time. Honestly, she couldn't remember the last time she had used this phone at all; anytime someone needed to reach her privately, they dialed her cell phone. She felt the cold of the machine against her finger as the recorded voice filled the room.

"Karen." Oh god. Gracie. She completely forgot about giving this number to her, just as a backup, in case she wasn't picking up her cell phone. Maybe she thought that calling her cell would be too personal. "I know this isn't going to do me any good right now. I know you're not going to get this for at least a couple of months. But I don't know how to reach you in the Virgin Islands and if I don't get this out now, I'll lose my nerve if I don't lose the words entirely first. I'm not playing around."

She could still hear Grace's voice, but her mind was now cluttered with thoughts stumbling over each other in an effort to be noticed. It had taken her a trip to the Virgin Islands and a miserable five months to realize that they had ended everything for no reason whatsoever. But all she had to do was wait. Just wait. Maybe it was the day she took her flight, maybe it was a week or so after they landed, maybe a month. If she had just said no to Stan, no to the trip, no to the lies like she should have, she would be in the arms of the woman she loved once again, instead of wondering about…well, everything. She had to see her. She had to talk to her. She had to finish listening to Grace's message.

"I don't know if anything is going to come out of this message. For all I know, you've already quit on us in your mind. But I'll do whatever it takes, whenever you need me to do it. I love you."

_I love you too, Gracie._

By the time that Grace's message ended, Karen was already halfway out the door. She rushed out of the building, hailed a cab, and nearly shouted the Riverside Drive address in anticipation. The car could not move fast enough. It was that inevitable and foolish feeling that speed would somehow help make the right outcome. Grace's voice on the tape was at least a few months old, Karen knew that, she wasn't delusional. There was a chance that Grace was over what they had, that she had changed her mind, that she was with someone else by now and they were starting to get serious. That she could care less about Karen. But there was also a chance that Grace still wanted her, that they could be together and everything would be alright.

And that was a chance she had to take.


	20. Of Square One And Closed Doors

_October 2000_

She had no one to turn to, no one to consult with. No one to help her analyze, rationalize, or quell her anxiousness. And as a result, she could feel it in the pit of her stomach, a boulder that can't be moved even the slightest bit. It's not that she didn't have people in her life who were close to her, people that she loved, people who cared about her as much as she cared about them. She just knew what would happen if she told them. They probably wouldn't believe her; she wouldn't blame them if they didn't. Part of her still couldn't believe it, even though the issue had planted its roots in the forefront of her mind.

So it was up to her. She had to deal with it on her own. And with Will out of the country and Jack, while she loved him, not exactly the ideal person to seek advice from, she didn't have a hard time accepting that fact. What she did have a hard time with, however, was the fact that even though her relationship with Karen had seemingly run its course, she found herself back where she started a year and a half ago. But instead of longing for that touch, she was now longing for the memory of that touch to disappear from her mind.

The dreams were long gone; while Grace thought that they would pick up again as soon as Karen made her urgent way out the door, she eventually went to bed and met a dreamless sleep. And as the months rolled on, even if she did dream, the places in her head weren't familiar, and while the people may have been people she knew, she couldn't find the one she knew best in the crowd. Gone was the bedroom, both the one she kept in Will's apartment and the one she called her own in 9A. Gone was the shadowed figure at the doorway, the laugh that she could name in a heartbeat. Gone was that urge not to feel safe, the living room, the elevator, her office, the darkness of the swatch room in the middle of the night, those risky public places.

Gone was the real thing.

And she was pretty sure she wasn't getting it back.

The week leading up to Karen's departure, Grace did the best she could to pretend like nothing happened, like the last year hadn't happened. Because, if you asked Will, if you asked Jack, if you asked anyone except Stan and that couple from the band of socialites Karen associated herself with, nothing did happen. Everything they had done—with the exception of the encounter in that downtown bookstore, and a couple of other skilled public outings scattered throughout the first phase of their connection—was done behind closed doors. Technically, all she had to do was deny everything—not even that, just keep a straight face—and she would be fine. No one would suspect a thing.

If only it were that easy.

The surface struggle was already won; she may wear her heart on her sleeve when it comes down to most things in life, but she could put on her game face when she had to. And god, was that game face strong. Sure, it may not have been when she still had Karen secretly on her arm, but now that it was over, she could focus her time on making her exterior strong where her interior was weak. But what about that interior? What about the inside? What about everything that all those doors throughout all those months were hiding? You can't just crush that to dust. It was never that simple. Those closed doors held in everything she wanted to release, and they wouldn't let any of it go. And since solitude wasn't working—she rarely went out, tried to keep as much time to herself as possible, even read the rest of Karen's diary to see if that theory of hers would work (it didn't)—Grace decided that the only way to unlock all of these doors was to stuff more memories, different memories, behind them so that there's no choice but for the door to burst, unleashing everything.

Two months after Karen left, Grace met a guy in the coffeehouse she used to frequent with her former lover; she thought that if she searched for the cure in the places that reminded her most of Karen, it would eventually take away the old connections to what lay inside these buildings and replace them with connections she felt that she could actually deal with. But while this guy, whose name escapes her now, seemed to be the ticket, Grace soon found out that they had absolutely nothing in common other than their drink order (it would be too easy for him to remember what she drank; Karen took concentration, she paid attention, she took notes). But when it should have probably deterred her, she simply went on to the next place. The downtown bookstore, Washington Square Park. At each location, she met someone who would end up being a sweet but fleeting distraction. There was only one place left she could go. But she wasn't that callous.

The Scarlet Rose. The restaurant that had belonged to Karen long before Grace had known that Karen existed. There was one point where she walked the street leading up to the place. There was one point where she had let herself consider walking in, sitting at the bar, and seeing what happens. But just as quickly as that thought had entered her mind, she hated herself for ever thinking it. And just as quickly as she hated herself for ever thinking it, she met Scott walking the avenue that led to the restaurant. He was cute. He was smart. He was dull. Completely and utterly dull.

She would give him one thing, though. He was the first person in this five-month string to distract her from her problems for a long period of time. And she couldn't argue with those results.

Grace had grown accustomed to the fact that Will was off in another land, so even though he had returned from his vacation-turned-business trip yesterday, she still wasn't used to the fact that he was just across the hall, ready to give advice at any moment (and if Will had landed yesterday, Karen couldn't be far behind. She may be home now, in fact, she may be…stop it, Grace. Stop it). He probably would have advised against this.

But she was desperate to break that door down.

And Will didn't know the real reason behind it, so maybe he wouldn't be so harsh.

Maybe.

She unlocked her front door and looked at Scott, tried on a smile that didn't seem so false, that didn't seem so weathered. She knew she was making this into a more tragic situation than it needed to be. In all honesty, this guy wasn't so bad. And it had been five months with no word from Karen, no response to that message that she left in May (it was probably worthless anyway, why did you even try? Stop it, Grace. Stop plaguing yourself with these thoughts). It was time to move on. "Would you like to come in?" she asked. She walked through the doorway and waited for him to follow suit.

And when he did, she closed the door behind them.

* * *

><p>Karen shoved her cab fare towards the front of the cab and barely waited for the driver to take what he was after. She was well aware of the fact that she had likely just given him the most generous tip of his career; her acquired lifestyle had taught her to be carefree with her money, and this added with the desire to just get the hell out of this cab and try to salvage her love made her flustered and absent to everything else. She stepped inside the building before the cab had a chance to drive off; she heard it speed away while the door closed behind her.<p>

This was it.

The elevator could not come fast enough. Karen stepped inside, pressed "9" repeatedly until the doors closed and she felt herself lifting. Something about the way the elevator sent her upwards shook the weight that was on her shoulders, made it tip to the side with the threat of falling off. And Karen was dying to have it fall off. She was almost certain it was going to fall off.

It had to fall off.

She held her breath as the doors opened, and she was faced with the door of 9C across the hall. She recalled that first night in April, after the girl's night, after the kiss in the swatch room, after she found that note on her desk: _My front door will be unlocked tonight_. That thrill of knowing that they were about to embark upon something unfamiliar, but something brilliant. But at a turn, she saw the door of 9A, and while she could count a plethora of memories filled with romance and warmth, she couldn't help but be faced with that last night she had with Grace. The chill of the diary's thud against the counter. Her rock hard words towards Grace before she walked out the door. God, why did she have to be so cold? There was no way they could come back from that, right?

Come on, Karen. You know Grace. She could forgive you. Everything could be alright.

Just make your move.

Get to that damn door.

She walked slowly down the hall towards the right. Before she got to the door of 9A, it opened for her.

But instead of Grace, she saw a man walking out.

"Good evening," he said as he became aware of Karen's presence, a friendly greeting for a stranger. She felt the words of a response come to die in her throat. She felt her heart slow as he walked into the same elevator that she came out of. She felt the weight that at one point tonight was shaking, tipping, on the verge of falling off, steady itself with full force. She felt the spin as the tables turned, and she was the one vying for the attention of a woman who was on the arm of another person, a man.

She felt the hot sting of tears rolling down her face.


	21. Failed Distractions

_October 2000_

She needed him to save her tonight.

Grace winced at the thought of it; she never liked to think that she wasn't the independent woman that she concocted in her mind. She liked to think that she could take control of her own life, that she didn't need to depend on anyone else to walk in and clean up her messes. She liked to think that she could make her own decisions, and that those decisions would be the right ones. But nothing in the past five months felt right. Nothing that happened tonight felt right. And as soon as she put an effective end to these proceedings, she immediately knew what she needed.

There was no other way about it. Grace needed Will, and she needed him now. Will would make sense of things. Will would have to know about the reasoning behind her actions, he'd have to know about Karen and the dreams and the girl's night and the kiss. The bookstore, the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, New Year's. All of it. It would likely take all night, and into the early hours of the morning—she wouldn't be surprised if she could see the sky getting brighter from the rising sun as she spoke—and she would likely get berated, laughed at, or any other number of reactions to the fact that she had secretly been with Karen for over a year, but it was something she was willing to live with.

She couldn't take it anymore.

Scott was supposed to take her mind off of everything, and for a little while, he did. He took her to dinner, he showed her a good time. He said all the right things in a tone that came off as genuinely caring. He held her hand as they were walking down Sixth Avenue in a way that let her know that he wouldn't move too fast if she didn't want him to. To anyone else, it would seem like the perfect date night, and anyone else would want it to happen again. But Grace wasn't just anyone. And while she honestly enjoyed herself tonight, she found herself constantly thinking of Karen, knowing that she was home, or would be soon. So when Scott walked her to her door, she resorted to the last thing she ever thought she would cling to, the thing that she really didn't want to cling to but had to try in order to forget about her former lover. And before she could stop herself, she heard the words come out of her mouth.

"Would you like to come in?"

When she walked through her door, for a moment she didn't expect him to follow her. It wasn't as though she had been dropping hints all night about an intention to invite him back, so in her mind, it was obvious that he thought she didn't want him tonight, and maybe he had already resigned himself to the fact that he was going home alone this time. But she watched a smile form on his lips, she watch him nod his head slightly before taking a few steps forward and waited for her to shut the door behind them. She froze in her place by the door for a moment as he walked around and took in the surroundings. Right then and there, she had no idea what to do.

She wasn't expecting to get this far with him tonight. And if she had to be honest, she wasn't expecting to get this far with him ever.

He was the first one to speak inside the apartment, and for that, Grace was grateful. With a small laugh, Scott pointed at a couple of the boxes that Grace had still neglected to unpack and asked, "Did you just move in?" It was a genuine question—he had never seen her apartment before—but she took it as an insult, although she couldn't tell you why.

"No, I've been here for some time now. It's just that with work and everything, those last few boxes seem to have fallen by the wayside, and I keep forgetting about them."

It was when she spoke those words that she realized why his question had rubbed her the wrong way. She was comparing it to the way Karen had reacted to those boxes. Karen always thought that it was cute, that it made the apartment unique and solely Grace's. Karen thought it suited Grace's personality—which, now that she thought about it, didn't really bode well for her personality, but as long as Karen loved it she didn't mind it. But that wasn't the point right now. She compared him to Karen in that moment, but she realized that subconsciously, she had been doing that the entire time she had known him. The way he treated her, the things that he liked and didn't like, his mannerisms, the way he was in public. Everything he did, Karen did better, Grace was sure of it. And if that was true, then she was sure that she would continue to compare the two for as long as she was with him. But most of all, when it came to Karen, there was that inevitable fact, unwilling to ease its hold.

Nobody would ever compare to her. Grace had to let Scott go.

"I…I'm sorry." It was all she could say. He had no idea what was going on in her mind, and she wasn't about to fill him in on nearly a year and a half of chaos—beautifully sweet chaos, followed by tragically bitter chaos, but chaos nonetheless. Maybe she could keep it short. Maybe he won't ask too many questions; they had only been going out for a couple of weeks, after all.

"What are you sorry about?" he asked.

"I shouldn't have asked you up here. I mean…it was sweet of you to walk me to my door, but I shouldn't be playing with you like this. I'm still trying to get over my last relationship. And I don't think I'm ready to do…whatever it is we were going to do here tonight. I'm still not quite sure. I'm sorry if I've hurt you, but I know that if we keep this up, I'm not going to be the person you want me to be, or the person you deserve. I should have said something sooner, but I think I was still trying to make my heart move on the same track as my mind."

Scott let a few moments of silence pass by before he gave his answer. "Don't worry about it. It's only been a short time for you and I. Look, I don't know if I was a distraction to you, or if you thought that we could actually make something work. Either way, I don't regret sticking around. I'm glad I got to know you." He walked over to Grace and kissed her gently on the cheek. "Whoever is still on your mind…he must be really important if you're still hung up on him. Maybe you have another chance." He turned and left. As she closed the door, she could have sworn that she heard him mumble something—maybe a greeting to one of the tenants on this floor, maybe an expression of disappointment, she couldn't exactly make out the words. It didn't matter anyway. She kept her mind on the last thing he said before he left.

_Whoever is still on your mind…he must be really important._ Oh, Scott. If only you knew half of what Grace knew. If only you knew the reasons this person was still on her mind. If only you knew how important _she_ really was (would Grace have gotten a dirty look for correcting him? Would he have been repulsed if he knew that the reason she couldn't be with him was because she was still in love with a woman? Maybe. But maybe not. Maybe he wouldn't have batted an eye. This was New York City, after all). Then maybe you would understand. Then maybe you would see why, while you are a wonderful person and at an earlier time in Grace's life, she could probably have had a lasting relationship with you, someone already swooped in and stole her heart.

But she truly is sorry.

And now, she needed Will. She needed him now more than she ever had. Because if anyone had the answer on how to get Karen out of her mind, it would be him, the most rational thinking person she had ever met, the only one who could keep completely level-headed even in the most chaotic of times. A million different starter lines were rushing through her head ("Hey, remember that Fourth of July when I was incredibly distant and I wouldn't tell you why?"). She was dreading it, but it had to be done. How else was she going to get out of this one?

Grace grabbed the diary Karen had given her the week before she left for the Virgin Islands. That was the key. If she told Will without any evidence, she knew he wasn't going to believe her. This was the proof. Will knew Karen's handwriting; she had signed legal documents for him, he peeked over her shoulder at the office every once in a while in curiosity over what she was writing. There would have been no way for Grace to forge something like this. Quickly, she flipped through it, looking over the words she had long ago memorized, and came across the last entry.

_I love you. I don't say it nearly as often as I should. I love you, I love you, I love you._

It probably wasn't true anymore. Funny how things can change in just five months. Funny how you'll grab for anything in an effort to forget it all.

Funny how distractions never work.

She opened her front door and walked out onto the ninth floor hallway. Will was just across the hall, but it seemed like one thousand miles away. Maybe it was because she was moving incredibly slow. Maybe it was her mind telling her that she wasn't ready to let go just yet. But the pain was unbearable, and she couldn't put up with it. It had to be now. She closed her door behind her and took a step before she heard a soft sound beneath her. It sounded like a gasp, but not one out of fear or surprise. No, it sounded like an attempt to reach for air after the tears had stopped you from breathing.

Grace shifted her glance to the floor, and found a woman against the wall beside her door, head in her hands, silent except for regaining her breath. She was dressed all in black; to some it may seem as though she were subconsciously mourning the things she had lost, but that wasn't the case at all. Grace knelt down, set the diary beside her, and lifted the woman's chin.

She didn't stop until she was face to face with Karen.


	22. Bring It Back

_October 2000_

"You know, you could have knocked."

Grace gave her a smile that she hoped would ease the hardness that had forced itself on Karen's delicate features. But Karen didn't smile. Karen's eyes didn't let the light that was desperate to shine get through. Karen wasn't having it. Any of it. She could tell that Karen was set to extinguish any sort of light, and it made Grace sad. The light was one of the first things that drew her to Karen in the first place, one of the first things that triggered her subconscious to gift her those dreams (and that's how she thought of them now, gifts. But, sadly, they were gifts that she had lost long ago and couldn't remember for the life of her where she put them). To see nothing but darkness in Karen's eyes was something completely foreign to her and she hoped that she would never have to witness it again.

"Did you have a nice time tonight?" she replied. It was harsh, but at that point, Karen thought that Grace deserved it. And when she saw the look of confusion plaguing Grace's face, she couldn't figure out if it was out of playing dumb, or of genuine oblivion. Either way, she decided to elaborate. "Your boyfriend walked out the door just as I was coming out of the elevator."

"He's not my boyfriend. He's a…he's a distraction, that's all." Grace sat down next to Karen with her back to the wall and sighed. She could feel the heat radiating off of Karen's skin and closed her eyes for a moment, taking it in as if it would be the last time she would ever get to experience it. Because for all she knew, it certainly could be the last time she'd experience it. And she loved it, so much. As she tried to take in as much of it as she could, she tried to break the silence that started to suffocate them. "He's only been around for a couple of weeks. He wasn't the only distraction. But I don't think you're interested in any of that." She opened her eyes only to turn her gaze towards Karen, whose eyes were pointed straight at the wall across the hallway. "How was your trip?" Not exactly what she wanted to ask, but it was certainly softer than "What are you doing here?"

Karen let out a laugh but kept her gaze on the wall. "You're kidding me, right?" Her voice was wavering, Grace could hear it, but the expression on her face absolutely refused to let up. "I made a stupid decision to salvage something that hadn't been there in ages, because I thought that the one thing I held close to me had been trashed. But the strange thing about it was that for the first two weeks, that decision seemed smart. I didn't have to touch my problems, I didn't have to do anything. But the silence. The silence killed me, and I went back to square one."

"Why didn't you ever try to call me, or write me? We could have figured this out. We could have avoided all of this." Grace fished blindly by her side for the diary, held it up when she found it so that Karen could see it out of the corner of her eye. "You wrote in this that you would call me if you had to go. That you would write to me. And you never did." It wasn't an accusation of irresponsibility, it wasn't out of anger. It was more of a disappointment.

"I wrote that before everything happened that night. Everything changed. I didn't think you'd want me to try and contact you while I was away with Stan. And to be honest, I didn't know how helpful it would be if I did. The whole point of going away like that was to make an attempt to distance myself from everything that happened between you and me, because I thought that I had to. Writing or calling just seemed like self-inflicted torture, and there was no reason to do that to myself."

"You thought you had to distance yourself, but you didn't have to," Grace murmured under her breath, but if Karen heard it, she made no acknowledgement.

"But it wasn't like I didn't think about you. I thought about you all the time. And then Will showed up at our door, ready to help Stan with some of the legal aspects he was dealing with, and it seemed like a sign. He was it. He was my connection to you. He would call you and write to you, and you would tell him all the things I wanted so desperately to know. And I hated that I wanted to know them, but when those first two weeks ran out, it's all I cared about. And damn it, Grace, I tried. I tried to find out about you. I even tried to muster up the courage to write a letter to you, whether or not you wanted to read it. But I invited him for a drink, and by the time he walked through the door, I just…I couldn't do it."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't want to know that you moved on! I always knew that it was a possibility. Hell, on some level, I always knew that it would probably be inevitable. But to actually hear it, to confirm all of that. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it. So I made small talk the entire time. After that, I only saw him when he came over to work with Stan." For the first time since Grace lifted her chin when she knelt down to face her, Karen turned her eyes from the wall to lock eyes with her former lover. "Did he say anything about me?"

"Just that you were a little more hospitable in the beginning than he would have expected from you. I almost wanted to tell him that he didn't know you at all, that he wouldn't know what to expect because you didn't let him in like you let me in. But I stopped myself."

Silence.

"I'm getting a divorce."

She didn't mean to drop a bomb like that. If anything, she would have eased her way into it if the conversation was going that way. But the conversation showed no signs of turning in the direction she had hoped (then again…what had she hoped for tonight? How could she have any expectations?). She let a moment go by before she continued. "I didn't do it for you. I'm sorry, I know that sounds harsh, and I don't mean for it to sound negative. But it's true. I didn't do it for you. And I don't expect any kind of reaction. I just thought that you should know."

"I'd say that I'm sorry about your marriage, but I've been around long enough to know that this is more of a relief than anything else," Grace said. She took a deep breath, braced herself for the question she had been dying to ask and finally got a chance to. "Is that why you came here tonight? You wanted to tell me that you were going to divorce Stan?"

Karen shook her head. Her cheeks were still tear-stained and at the right angle, the lights in the hallway accentuated the fact in a glaring clarity that they both could have done without. She cleared her throat. "I got your message."

They both let her remark hang there in mid air, wondering what it is they should do next. It wasn't as if Grace had forgotten about the message she had left on Karen's answering machine in May—it always shifted to different corners, but it was always in her mind, and she had grown accustomed to the fact that it would take up a permanent residency there. But it shocked her to know that Karen had actually heard it. That was never part of Grace's thought process when it came to the message. But she heard it. And she was here. Which had to mean something good. Right?

"I know it's been a while since you left it, and you probably don't feel that way anymore." Karen took a second to steady herself; she could feel the tears at the back of her throat and was trying to force them back down so she didn't look like a complete mess. "But I had to find out, either way. I couldn't find out when I was in the Virgin Islands, not when I was so far away from everything that I couldn't have a fighting chance. If I find out now, maybe I can get a better outcome. I wanted to know if you still felt that way. Because I do. But seeing that man walk out of your apartment gave me my answer."

"I told you, he was a distraction." Grace couldn't help but smile, letting the small tears that had been welling up the entire time they had been sitting together fall. "You want to know what I've done with the five months that you were away? I tried to throw myself into anything that would help me forget about you. Which usually meant meeting someone and having a date or two before I realized that they couldn't help me at all. They couldn't distract me. The only reason Scott stuck around for the two weeks that he did was because he was actually able to take my mind off the fact that I was completely miserable. But, like it always did, it came down to the fact that I kept comparing him with you. And no one can ever hold a candle to you. I miss you. I still love you. And if you had asked Will about me, you probably would have gotten what I was feeding him, which was that I was fine. That yes, I was upset about the fact that he just left without any warning, without telling me, but that I was over the initial shock and I was just waiting for him to come home. It's really easy to lie on the phone."

Silence. But this time, it wasn't a thick and heavy silence. It started to transform into the silences they had once been so used to, when nothing was said but nothing really needed to be. It wasn't completely there yet. But it was on its way. And right now, they would take whatever they could get.

"Um…" Grace took a fumble over her words; she wasn't sure if she should even pose them. But she started, and Karen was expecting something. So she might as well get on with it. "I don't really know what your plans are. You know, with Stan and the divorce and everything? But…if you need a place to stay for a few days until you figure out living situations, all of that…my door is open."

She took a risk with that, she knew it. But it didn't compare to the one that she took next. Slowly—she wasn't sure why her pace was so sluggish—her hand crawled over towards Karen, landing on top of the hand she had been dying to hold for five months. She waited for some kind of response, any kind of response. And after what seemed like an eternity, she turned to face Karen as Karen brushed her lips against Grace's.

"I love you, Gracie."

"I love you too, Karen."

The light in Karen's eyes shone through once again, that light that Grace had so desperately missed, as they stood up, and Grace led them into her apartment.


	23. Begin Again

_October 2000_

It started, as it always does, with a dream. Usually it's not a literal dream, something you see as you sleep, but a wish, a hope, a desire. In my case, it started with subconscious visions unleashing the desires I didn't know I had, I didn't know I was capable of. And I'll be honest, Karen, it scared the hell out of me. It scared me because of who you were, or at least who I made you out to be. But you came to play, and you proved me wrong.

Oh, how you proved me wrong.

For a year, I thought that you were a manifestation of the dream, that there was no possible way that someone like you could exist without me dreaming you up first. But you can't fault me for that; every moment with you felt like, and in some cases actually was, something that had crawled into my mind as sleep had weakened my defenses. You figured out my desires, you went above and beyond. You made me feel loved even when we hadn't set the boundaries of our connection. And that was the most important thing. You always made me feel loved. Even when I didn't feel safe—and sometimes I didn't want to feel that security—and even when I didn't feel honest when it came to interacting with other people, I always felt that love. And I kept it with me and never lost it. If I had to be honest, I think it was part of the reason why I never completely let go of you, why I always compared you to every other potential flame, every other potential lover. You found your way under my skin and you weren't leaving. Not that I ever really wanted you to.

More, recently, for five months, I thought that you were where dreams go to die. It seemed to make sense at the time. When we started sneaking around, the dreams that I had of you started to slow in frequency until they disappeared completely. And when you left, they wouldn't come back even as some cheap form of comfort while you were trying to keep up appearances. For the first few weeks, I didn't mind the fact that they weren't there. If I couldn't put my mind to rest during the day, while I was awake, then certainly I'll take the respite that I had been given when the sun set. And the dreamless sleeps had extinguished the fire, at least for the hours that my eyes were closed. But as soon as I woke up, as soon as my eyes opened, something in my brain lit a match to the driftwood, lit a match to the wreckage of you and me, and the glow and the heat were too much to ignore. And it only fueled the conviction that you were, in fact, where dreams go to die.

Everything added up.

But tonight…oh, tonight…tonight I know what you are, Karen. If the diary couldn't tell me—and even though I've read those words thousands of times, even though I could recite them to you from memory—then tonight certainly screamed it, if not right away, then progressively. It was murmured under breath when I opened the door to find you with your back against the wall. It grew into a stage whisper when you told me about your plans for divorce (on some level, I always knew that it would happen eventually, and I always knew that it wouldn't be because of me or what we have). It convinced me that it was okay to offer a place to stay, and it sternly ordered me to hold your hand afterwards. I could hear it shouting as you kissed me, and before we closed the door, I could hear it screaming as I led you inside.

I can only imagine what it would do if it saw us now, if it was able to sneak past before the door was shut. The night is all around us, yes, but you and I are isolated within the confines of 9A, and right now, I wouldn't have it any other way. I can feel your skin against mine, our legs entwined on the mattress and a soft sigh of song as you rest your head on my chest. For a moment, I think I can hear a faint commotion outside, but I know it isn't real. What is real is the fact that you have come back to me. That's all I could ever ask for.

Tonight, I know what you are. I think I've always known, whether or not I've always realized it. I think I even knew it when I thought the worst of you and tried to drown my sadness in flings that wouldn't last and new memories I would likely forget. You are the beauty, you are the heart, you are the soul. You are everything that was lacking in my world, and that is why I could barely survive without the presence of you (well…maybe I could, but I barely wanted to. Let's put it like that). You are all I want, you are all I need. You are no longer where dreams go to die.

You are where they begin.

* * *

><p>I couldn't ask for more, Grace.<p>

When I got into the elevator tonight, I knew that I was working with a fifty-fifty shot here. I knew that in five months time, you could have forgotten all about everything we had, forgotten what we had meant to each other, what you still mean to me. And when I saw that guy—Scott, I think you said his name was Scott, but now that he's gone, does it really matter?—all of my fears had been confirmed, or at least I thought they had been. And let me tell you, honey, I tried to leave. I wanted to take the stairs slowly, one by one with a few seconds in between steps, just to make sure that I wouldn't run into him again tonight. I wanted to wait a few moments before pressing the button that would call the elevator back up to the ninth floor, but doing that meant running the risk of you finding me out there, of Will finding me out there. And while I was dreading seeing you at that moment, I was dreading the possibility of seeing Will far more. How could I explain myself to him?

I felt like my legs couldn't carry me more than a few feet, so I came to rest beside your door and felt the tears flow even though I tried like hell to keep them from seeing the light of the hallway. I knew that just sitting there would increase the chance of you walking out and finding me. But at that point I didn't care. You came through. You sat down next to me. And after the required moments of awkwardness and silence, we made it back to the place we loved and longed to return to.

And now, I can honestly say that I am completely yours, in every single meaning imaginable.

I don't know where we're going to go now that I'm free from Stan. What I do know is that I can't imagine staying anywhere else but here. I know that I will go at your pace, I will only speak about us to the people you want me to. I will keep it a secret if that's what you want. I know that I will do anything to make this work. And I know that the best feeling in the world is being in your arms.

Suddenly, you move to get out of bed, the sheets rustling as your feet touch the ground. I watch you as you grab a couple of robes out of your closet (god, I love the way you move), and see your smile shine in the moonlight as you toss one of them my way. "Put this on," you say gently as you throw yours around your body and move into the kitchen. I can hear the refrigerator door open and close, the gentle metallic sound of your house keys. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I follow these soft noises to you. The room is dark, but I can still make out a bottle of Chardonnay on the kitchen counter, and recalling the sound of the keys, I figure out what you're planning to do. I see you reaching for two wine glasses.

"Don't," I say quietly, but with enough force for you to hear it. "We don't need glasses. It'll be just like the last time." God, I love your grin, the way it can light up anything in its path.

You unlock Will's door across the hall and take my hand as you tiptoe across the floor. "He should be fast asleep," you whisper. "We just need to get to the balcony anyway, it shouldn't be a big deal." Gracie, at this point, I don't care where we go. Just as long as you're the one to go with me.

The late night breeze on the balcony chills me, but not as much as I remembered it chilling me before. You take a swig out of the bottle before handing it over to me, and I'm instantly transported to a simpler time. And even though we hadn't fully set our boundaries, or our terms, I hold moments like those in a high regard. Those were the moments that I felt free, and the terms and conditions of our relationship somehow made me freer. It was a feeling that I haven't had surrounding me in five months. I've missed it.

God, how I've missed it.

As if you read my mind, you murmur into my ear. "It can be like that again." I can smell a bit of Chardonnay on your breath although we haven't been drinking that much. It always struck me as amazing, how you were able to take my biggest fears and quell them one way or another. I may have never let on about it, I may not have admitted it to myself half of the time, but it happened. And I'd thank you every day for it if I could.

I kiss your shoulder and smile into your skin. "I think it already is."

Right now, Will could walk out of his bedroom. He could stumble into the living room, making his way to the kitchen for a glass of water, or a midnight snack. He could absently glance to his right as he reaches for the refrigerator. He could see our backs towards him. He could do a double take. He could walk through the glass door and ask what the hell is going on. He could be livid.

I could care less.

All I care about right now is the fact that you just pressed your lips softly against my cheek as I took another swig of wine, before going for my Chardonnay-sweetened lips. All I care about right now is the fact that we are watching over Riverside Drive together, in our solitude, and it's so quiet up here, so beautiful. All I care about right now is the fact that you just draped your arm around my shoulder and brought me in closer. And before I know it, I can feel you arms wrap tighter around me. I love it. I want to stay like this forever. Or at least as long as you'll have me.

If you can help it, never let me go.


End file.
